Division  FI8fc8 

vS  ctioii  . Gr  2 T 


WHERE  THE  TWAIN  MEET 


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[FrolUixjliece. 


WHERE  THE  ' 
MEET 


1%- 


/ 

BY  MARY *^G AUNT 

Author  of  Alone  in  West  Africa f ‘M  Woman  in  China^' 
“ A Broken  fourneyf  “ The  Uncounted  Cost,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 
1922 


1-UlNTKI)  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  BY 
OLIVER  AND  BOYD,  EDINBURGH 


TO 


MY  FRIEND 

MRS  LANG 

/ gratefully  dedicate  this  hook. 

My  Dear  Elsie, 

I wonder  if  you  remember  as  vividly  as  I do  the  very 
drastic  criticism  of  a book  of  mine  that  first  introduced  us  to 
each  other.  My  publisher  showed  it  to  me  with  some  hesitation 
because  it  was  so  scathing,  but  it  went  right  to  the  point.  Most 
of  the  book  was  scrapped  there  and  then,  and  my  literary  education 
was  begun  under  your  care.  It  was  you  indeed  who  taught 
me  that  I needed  educating  in  my  art.  That  is  twelve  years 
ago,  and  I have  never  since  let  a book  go  into  the  world  till  it 
has  received  your  approval.  I am  afraid  I have  sometimes  tried 
you  severely,  but  it  has  always  been  my  ambition  to  be  your 
prize  pupil.  I owe  more  than  I can  say  to  my  sympathetic 
teacher. 

It  is  a small  thing  to  offer  my  latest  book  to  you,  but  I hope 
you  will  accept  it  with  my  love  and  warmest  thanks. 

Affectionately  yours, 

MARY  GAUNT. 


Sainte  Agnes,  France. 
d>th  September  1921. 


V 


"M 

\ 


PREFACE 


Spain  first  set  foot  in  the  Western  World,  and  if  the 
discovery  brought  great  wealth  it  brought  also  much 
individual  suffering  and  bitter  hardship.  In  Jamaica, 
she  found  no  people  living  in  barbaric  splendour,  no 
stores  of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones,  only 
a lovely  land,  fruitful  and  fertile,  valuable  only  to 
her  because  she  did  not  dare  let  another  nation 
settle  so  close  to  the  rich  possessions  of  which  she 
was  mistress.  But  the  other  nations  of  Europe 
were  naturally  anxious  to  share  in  the  rich  spoil  of 
the  West,  and  if  Britain  took  Jamaica  and  held  her, 
it  was  only  I think  because  she  could  not  take  Cuba 
and  Hispaniola.  The  Spaniards  fought  for  every 
inch  of  the  island  before  they  lost  it,  and  now  for 
remembrance  of  them  there  remains  but  a few 
place  names  and  legends  of  the  treasure  they  left 
stored  there. 

If  colonisation  was  difficult  for  the  Spaniards 
it  was  still  more  difficult  for  the  British,  coming 
from  the  cold  North.  No  one  was  eager  to  brave 
the  dangers  of  the  tropics,  and  like  the  king  in 
the  parable,  desiring  to  fill  his  tables  for  the  feast. 
Government  sought  in  the  highways  and  byways 
for  a population,  and  they  imported  white  bondsmen 
and  women,  virtually  a slave  population,  the  first 

vii 


PREFACE 


Spain  first  set  foot  in  the  Western  World,  and  if  the 
discovery  brought  great  wealth  it  brought  also  much 
individual  suffering  and  bitter  hardship.  In  Jamaica, 
she  found  no  people  living  in  barbaric  splendour,  no 
stores  of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones,  only 
a lovely  land,  fruitful  and  fertile,  valuable  only  to 
her  because  she  did  not  dare  let  another  nation 
settle  so  close  to  the  rich  possessions  of  which  she 
was  mistress.  But  the  other  nations  of  Europe 
were  naturally  anxious  to  share  in  the  rich  spoil  of 
the  West,  and  if  Britain  took  Jamaica  and  held  her, 
it  was  only  I think  because  she  could  not  take  Cuba 
and  Hispaniola.  The  Spaniards  fought  for  every 
inch  of  the  island  before  they  lost  it,  and  now  for 
remembrance  of  them  there  remains  but  a few 
place  names  and  legends  of  the  treasure  they  left 
stored  there. 

If  colonisation  was  difficult  for  the  Spaniards 
it  was  still  more  difficult  for  the  British,  coming 
from  the  cold  North.  No  one  was  eager  to  brave 
the  dangers  of  the  tropics,  and  like  the  king  in 
the  parable,  desiring  to  fill  his  tables  for  the  feast. 
Government  sought  in  the  highways  and  byways 
for  a population,  and  they  imported  white  bondsmen 
and  women,  virtually  a slave  population,  the  first 

vii 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


shadow  that  was  to  impede  the  progress  of  the  land. 
Labour  was  branded.  The  men  worked — and  died — 
in  the  fields,  and  the  women  became  the  mistresses 
of  the  young  planters,  so  that  marriage  went  out 
of  fashion,  and  the  free  women  were  neglected  and 
forlorn. 

And  when  they  ceased  to  send  the  white  bonds- 
men, they  sought  a substitute  in  the  black  man  from 
Africa. 

The  man  who  comes  out  to  a new  land  is  apt 
always  to  see  the  land  he  leaves  behind  through  a 
softening  veil  that  enhances  its  desirability.  He  sees 
only  its  good  points.  And  naturally  this  emphasises 
the  drawbacks  of  the  new  land.  He  speaks  disparag- 
ingly of  it,  he  writes  home  disparagingly,  dwelling 
on  his  many  hardships.  Jamaica  was  no  exception 
to  the  almost  universal  rule.  Most  men  went  there 
to  make  their  fortunes,  with  every  intention  of 
returning  to  spend  them.  Only  Hans  Sloane,  a 
wise  and  far-seeing  man,  saw  the  glory  of  the  land, 
and  left  behind  him  a record  of  its  wealth  and  its 
beauty  and  fertility.  Lady  Nugent,  writing  more 
than  one  hundred  years  later,  was  much  more  swayed 
by  public  opinion,  and  saw  what  she  was  told  she 
would  see,  a deadly  climate  where  men  died  like 
flies,  though  even  she  does  arrive  at  the  poignant  fact 
that  the  women  who  lived  with  less  licence,  bore 
this  climate  far  better  than  their  mates. 

From  her  pen,  too,  we  first  have  some  pity  for 
the  unfortunates  the  British  imported  from  the 
Guinea  Coast  to  work  in  their  plantations.  Terrible 
are  the  stories  told  of  the  sufferings  of  this  alien 


PREFACE 


IX 


people  from  the  moment  they  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  slavers  till  they  stood  in  the  slave  markets 
at  Kingston  or  Montego  Bay,  told  calmly,  told 
coldly,  told  simply  as  facts  by  men  who  saw  only 
the  difficulties  of  the  trade,  and  of  dealing  with 
men  and  women  who  wilfully  ” drowned  themselves 
to  escape  their  fate.  On  arrival,  the  stronger  like 
cattle  were  sold  in  the  open  market,  but  only  here 
and  there  do  we  get  awful  glimpses  of  the  fate  that 
befell  the  weaker. 

Life  was  no  bed  of  roses  for  the  planter  and  his 
white  assistants,  working  to  provide  funds  to  be  spent 
in  the  old  country,  but  it  was  simply  a hell  at  first  for 
the  savages  they  worked. 

On  the  plantations  no  white  woman  was  welcome. 
As  the  masters  had  taken  the  white  bondswoman 
for  their  temporary  companions,  so  now  they  took 
the  black  while  they  were  young  and  comely.  At 
first  it  was  savages  and  white  masters,  and  the 
little  coloured  children  who  were  but  their  fathers’ 
chattels. 

So  slowly  the  people  progressed,  we  hardly 
realise  there  was  any  progress,  till  we  see  the  men 
and  women  of  dark  complexion  clothed  and  ardent 
church  members,  even  though  they  are  slaves,  and 
we  remember  how  short  a while  before  they  started 
here  as  naked  savages.  Two  generations  were 
worlds  apart.  Cruel  rebellion  there  was,  crueller 
retaliation,  but  still  white  and  black  advanced  to 
better  things  in  the  land  that  was  becoming  the 
loved  home. 

The  years  rolled  on.  First  the  trade  was  for- 


X 


PREFACE 


bidden,  then  the  slave  was  freed,  then  the  black 
man  was  given  equal  rights  with  the  white,  and 
now — Now  there  are  still  difficulties,  difficulties 
born  of  ignorance,  of  poverty,  but  so  there  are  in 
the  upward  march  of  every  people  under  the  sun. 
Sometimes  they  make  great  strides  onwards,  some- 
times they  seem  to  pause  and  fall  back,  but  really 
always  the  march  is  upwards,  though  we  can  only 
see  the  progress  by  looking  back. 

An  enchanting  tale,  a tale  of  rare  adventure  and 
romance  is  the  past  of  Jamaica,  and  before  her  lies 
a glorious  future,  for  the  Empire  is  slowly  awakening 
to  the  value  of  the  tropical  possessions  that  are 
within  the  borders,  and  this  fruitful  island  of  wood 
and  mountain  and  water,  set  in  a summer  sea,  must 
surely  play  a great  part  in  the  future  development  of 
one  of  the  great  nations  of  the  earth. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP,  PAGE 

I.  Britain’s  First  Tropical  Colony  . . . 1 

II.  The  White  Bondsmen  . . . .33 

III.  Jamaica’s  First  Historian  . . . .57 

IV.  The  Castles  on  the  Guinea  Coast  . . .76 

V.  The  Middle  Passage  . . . . .98 

VI.  The  Plantation  . . . . .122 

VII.  Slave  Rebellions  . . , .150 

VIII.  The  Maroons  . . . . . .170 

IX.  The  Footprints  of  the  Years  . . .216 

X.  The  Making  of  Christians  ....  238 

XI.  The  Freeing  of  the  Slave  ....  259 

XII.  Jamaica  as  I saw  It  . . . 280 


xi 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


A Mountain  Scene  . 

On  the  Way  to  St  Ann’s  Bay 
Christiansborg  Castle  (Gold  Coast) 
Annamabu  Fort 
Gateway,  Annamabu  Fort  . 

Going  to  Market  . 

A Great  House 

Montego  Bay  and  Town,  Jamaica  . 
Mango  Walk,  Kempshot 
Looking  up  at  Kempshot 


Frontisjnece 
Face  page  6 
„ 76 

„ 84 

» 84 

„ 98 

„ 150 

„ 243 

„ 288 

288 


zU 


WHERE  THE  TWAIN  MEET 


CHAPTEE  I 

Britain's  first  tropical  colony 

When  first  I took  passage  to  Jamaica  it  seemed  as 
if  purest  chance  were  sending  me  there.  But  I begin 
to  believe  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance,  for  when 
I remembered  that  Jamaica  was  an  old  slave  colony 
I realised  that  this  last  coincidence  was  but  the 
culmination  of  a curious  series  that  have  guided  my 
steps  through  long  years. 

No  one  in  my  youth  that  I ever  heard  of  wanted 
to  go  to  West  Africa,  and  yet  from  the  time  I was 
twelve  years  old  I had  an  intense  desire  to  go  there, 
without  the  faintest  hope  of  its  being  gratified. 

As  a young  girl  I came  home  to  England  and 
stayed  with  friends  in  Liverpool,  shipowners,  whose 
people  had  been  African  traders  for  hundreds  of 
years,  and  African  traders  one  hundred  and  twenty 
years  ago  certainly  meant  slave  traders,  for  the  slave 
trade  was  a “very  genteel  trade."  I pored  over  the 
models  of  the  factories  they  had  on  the  West  Coast 
of  Africa,  and  the  pictures  of  their  ships  in  the  Oil 
Eivers,  and  voiced  my  great  desire  to  go  there,  a 
desire  that  amused  them  very  much,  for  they  who 
could  have  gone  any  day  would  not  have  dreamt 
of  taking  the  trouble.  They  had  estates  in  Jamaica 
too,  had  had  them  for  many  years,  and  I found  on 
a shelf  an  old  slave  account  book  from  that  island 


2 BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

which  meant  so  little  to  them  that  they  jotted  down 
on  the  blank  pages  the  number  of  eggs  their  hens 
laid.  How  I wished  I could  see  the  place  whither 
those  slaves  from  Africa  had  gone,  but  Africa  and 
Jamaica  were  far  away  in  those  days. 

I went  back  to  Australia,  married  and  settled 
down,  and  then  being  widowed  came  to  England 
again  to  make  my  way  in  the  literary  world,  and 
the  first  spare  money  I had,  it  was  £225, 1 remember, 
I realised  my  childish  dreams  and  took  passage  for 
the  West  Coast  of  Africa.  I was  so  interested, 
found  it  so  well  worth  while,  that  I went  again  to 
the  land  to  which  no  man  wanted  to  go,  the  land 
that  was  known  as  the  “White  Man's  Grave."  Why 
I should  have  taken  so  keen  an  interest  in  the  land 
where  the  slave  trade  was  born,  why  I should  later 
have  gone  to  a slave  colony,  I cannot  imagine,  but 
I did,  and  the  result  has  been  a curious  light  on 
past  and  present,  a linking  up  of  those  old  days 
with  the  future  that  lies  ahead  of  Jamaica. 

Perhaps  in  a former  life  I too  was  a slave,  or 
perhaps  I was  one  of  those  careless  folk  who  lived 
in  one  of  the  death-traps  they  called  Castles  on 
the  Guinea  Coast,  and  something  in  me  made  me 
wish  to  see  them  again,  and  having  seen  them, 
something  certainly  stronger  than  myself  made  me 
finish  with  Jamaica,  the  lovely  island  where  Britain, 
though  she  does  not  seem  to  know  it,  is  experimenting 
in  negro  rule. 

Yes,  surely,  some  haunting  memory  of  a past  life 
has  shaped  my  career. 

And  this  is  how  it  came  about.  I was  ill  and 
had  to  go  to  a warm  climate,  and  as  the  War 
had  disturbed  shipping  I could  get  passage  nowhere 
except  to  Jamaica.  And  safe  on  board  the  Camito, 
steaming  down  the  Welsh  Coast  with  the  tang  of  the 


3 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

salt  sea  breeze  in  my  nostrils,  it  flashed  across  me 
that  here  at  last  when  I least  expected  it  had  come 
my  great  chance.  Into  my  hands  had  been  put 
the  opportunity,  if  I could  but  use  it,  to  complete  a 
half-finished  task.  I was  indeed  going  to  find  out 
the  end  of  the  story  that  had  thrilled  my  childish 
years,  for  this  island  set  in  a tropical  sea  is  in- 
dissolubly bound  up  with  the  Castles  on  the  Guinea 
Coast.  From  the  swamps  at  the  mouths  of  the 
Niger  and  the  Gambia,  from  the  surf-beaten  Gold 
and  Ivory  and  Slave  Coasts  had  come  the  lumbering 
little  square  ships  that  took  to  the  New  World 
the  dark  people  of  the  Old,  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  them,  and  in  Jamaica  there  had  grown  up  under 
the  British  Crown  a people  apart.  Call  it  coincidence 
if  you  like,  but  to  me  it  will  always  seem  that  a 
Greater  Power  guided  my  unwilling  feet  into  the 
ways  that  brought  me  in  touch  with  the  things  I 
most  wanted  to  know. 

And  sailing  west  on  that  comfortable  ship,  where 
ice,  beef-tea,  fruit,  cakes,  or  any  other  desired  luxury 
came  at  a word  to  the  steward,  where  a question 
to  the  captain  or  one  of  the  officers  discovered  for 
me  in  exactly  what  part  of  the  world  we  were,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  think  of  the  first  man  who 
had  dared  those  seas.  The  Genoese  navigator  had 
come  sailing  west  under  the  Spanish  flag,  and  he 
had  come  slowly,  slowly,  where  we  steamed  fast. 
They  were  only  just  beginning  to  believe  the  world 
was  round  in  those  days,  and  doubtless  many  of  the 
sailors  shipped  for  the  voyage  were  ignorant  men, 
not  knowing  whither  they  were  bound.  And  their 
leader  felt  his  way  dubiously  where  we  were  quite 
certain  of  our  going.  On  and  on  they  went  into 
the  unknown.  How  unknown  we  can  hardly  con- 
ceive nowadays,  any  more  than  we  can  conceive 


4 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


of  the  dangers  they  faced.  Think  of  it.  There  were 
fish  which  could  swallow  a ship,  crew  and  all,  there 
was  the  "‘Flying  Dutchman,”  portent  of  death,  there 
were  mermaids  and  syrens  to  lure  them  to  destruction, 
there  were  enchantments  of  all  sorts,  in  addition  to 
the  ordinary  perils  of  the  sea,  and  then  of  course — ' 
supposing  the  world  wasn't  round ! Suppose  they 
arrived  at  the  place  where  the  water  gathered  itself 
together  and  poured  in  one  mighty  waterfall  right 
off  the  earth  into  space  and  nothingness  ! I am  sure 
as  the  days  went  on  the  crews  must  have  discussed 
the  matter,  have  talked  among  themselves  of  the 
terrible  dangers  they  were  facing,  have  gone  every 
night  and  morning  to  pray  before  the  Virgin  and 
Child  on  the  poop,  and  at  last  they  came  to  declare 
how  worse  than  foolish  was  Columbus  not  to  turn 
back  when  day  after  day  showed  still  only  a blue 
waste  of  waters. 

And  if  they  had  gone  over  that  tremendous 
waterfall  I am  sure  there  would  have  been  those 
among  the  crew  who  would  have  declared  at  the 
supreme  moment  that  they  knew  it  would  be  so, 
they  had  always  known  it  would  be  so.  Had  Pedro 
not  met  a pig  on  the  way  to  the  ship,  had  the  black 
cat  not  died  before  they  reached  Madeira,  and  surely 
the  Admiral  should  have  turned  back  when  the  wind 
shifted  so  that  he  saw  the  new  moon  for  the  first  time 
through  the  glass  of  the  cabin  port ! 

But  at  last — what  a long  last  it  must  have  seemed 
to  those  first  voyagers  who  had  dared  to  leave  the 
coasts — they  saw  sea- weed  and  land  birds,  and  at  last, 
at  last — not  the  terrible  waterfall  they  had  feared  but 
land,  land,  land  such  as  they  liad  left  behind  then). 
What  a moment  it  must  have  been  for  the  great 
mariner ! We  passed  that  land,  that  island.  There 
must  linger  round  it  still,  I think,  some  of  the  wild 


DREAMS  FROM  THE  PAST 


5 


delight  that  filled  the  hearts  of  the  explorers,  for  still 
men  point  it  out,  “ The  first  land  Columbus  saw  ! 

We  came  into  sight  of  Jamaica  in  the  late  after- 
noon and  sailed  along  the  south  coast  as  the  shadows 
were  falling.  A well-wooded  country  we  saw,  as 
its  first  discoverer  must  have  seen  more  than  four 
hundred  years  before,  a land  of  steep  mountains  and 
deep  valleys,  with  here  and  there  patches  of  vivid 
green  that,  those  who  knew,  told  us  were  the  sugar 
plantations  that  were  the  gold  mines  of  Jamaica  in 
the  sugar  boom.  And  the  mists  rose  up  from  the 
valleys,  and  the  shadows  grew  deeper  and  the  day 
died  in  a glory  of  red  and  gold,  a sight  so  common 
that  no  one  takes  note  of  it;  and  the  night  with  a 
sky  of  velvet,  embroidered  with  diamonds,  crystal 
clear,  came  sweeping  down  upon  us — a cloak  of 
darkness — as  we  steamed  into  Kingston  Harbour. 

Columbus  did  not  land  in  Jamaica  on  his  first 
voyage,  but  he  undoubtedly  saw  it,  as  we  saw  it,  many 
and  many  a time.  The  memory  of  him  was  with  me 
still  as  we  landed.  What  to  me  were  the  comforts 
of  the  Myrtle  Bank  Hotel  set  right  in  Kingston,  or 
of  the  Constant  Spring  out  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains?  No,  that  is  ungrateful.  As  an  old 
traveller,  no  one  can  appreciate  better  than  I the 
comforts  of  a good  hotel.  But  as  I dreamt  on  a 
comfortable  steamer,  so  I dreamt  more  vividly  of  the 
past  on  the  verandah  of  the  Myrtle  Bank,  looking 
down  the  palm  avenue  to  the  sea.  The  night  air 
was  heavy  with  spicy  scents,  and  the  fireflies  wheeled 
and  danced,  living  lights  in  the  dark  shadows  under 
the  greenery,  all  the  voluptuousness  of  the  tropics 
was  here  in  this  land  of  romance  which  Columbus 
found  for  Spain,  and  that  later  was  the  first  great 
tropical  possession  of  Britain.  But  Jamaica  has 
been  an  unlucky  land,  and  I doubt  whether  Britain 

B 


6 


BRITAIN'S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


has  yet  realised  its  value.  It  might  be  called  the 
land  of  lost  opportunities,  so  often  have  those  who 
governed  it  let  its  good  things  pass  by.  I doubt 
whether  Spain  herself  got  any  great  good  from  this 
new  possession ; certainly  Columbus  found  small 
peace  here.  With  his  people  dismayed  and  down- 
hearted, almost  all  his  anchors  lost  and  his  vessels 
bored  as  full  of  holes  as  a honeycomb,  driven  by 
opposing  winds  and  currents,  he  put  into  Puerto 
Bueno,  in  the  parish  of  Saint  Ann’s.  But  not  finding 
sufficient  food  or  water  ” (probably  water,  as  it  is  now 
known  as  Dry  Harbour),  “he  sailed  east  again  and 
put  into  a cove  since  known  as  Don  Cristopher’s 
Cove.”  His  ships  were  mere  wrecks,  those  brave 
castled  ships  that  had  sailed  from  Spain  with  such 
high  hopes,  and  it  was  very  certain  that  whatever 
might  happen  to  them,  back  to  Spain  they  could  not 
go.  It  was  a terrible  situation,  an  awful  strait  in 
which  those  brave  mariners  found  themselves  over 
four  hundred  years  ago. 

“You  must  see  the  parish  of  St  Ann,”  said  a 
Jamaican  lady  to  me;  “it  is  all  green  grass  and 
white  Indian  cattle,  and  dark  green  pimento  trees.” 

In  those  days  there  was  probably  not  much  green 
grass,  natural  grasses  grow  roughly  and  in  tufts,  and 
there  were  no  Indian  cattle ; but  the  dark  green 
pimento  trees  were  there,  their  fragrance  and  that  of 
many  a tropical  flower  and  tree  must  have  been 
brought  by  the  land  breeze  to  the  sailors  in  the 
ships.  For  Columbus  sank  his  unseaworthy,  worm- 
riddled  ships  in  the  harbour,  sank  them  till  the  water 
came  right  up  to  their  decks,  a sign  of  the  desperate- 
ness of  his  position,  for  no  leader  if  he  had  any  hope 
of  redeeming  the  situation  would  have  sunk  the  only 
means  he  had  of  returning  to  his  own  land. 

Think  of  it.  The  ships  were  aground  within 


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On  the  Way  to  St  Ann’s  Bay. 

Cove  like  this  Columbus  beached  his  ships. 


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THE  LOVELY  CARIBBEAN  SEA  7 

a bow-shot  of  the  shore.  I don’t  know  how  far 
that  is,  but  certainly  too  far  to  swim  easily  in 
a tropical  sea,  they  were  sunk  side  by  side  and 
were  placed  in  the  '‘best  possible  state  of  defence,” 
which  probably  means  that  every  cooling  current  of 
air,  the  pleasant  pungent  sea  breeze  in  the  morning, 
and  the  aromatic  land  breeze  in  the  evening  were 
shut  out.  It  must  have  had  its  effect  upon  the  crews 
this  lack  of  fresh  air,  though  probably  they  were  not 
greatly  concerned  about  it.  They  very  likely  con- 
sidered as  men  did  long  after  their  time  that  the 
land  breeze  was  dangerous  and  that  the  sea  breeze 
gave  them  ague,  and  I expect  they  looked  out  over 
the  shimmering  sea  and  hated  it  with  a bitter  hatred 
and  blamed  pitilessly  the  man  who  brought  them 
there. 

And  yet  in  all  the  world  I have  not  seen  a more 
lovely  sea  than  the  sea  that  rings  Jamaica.  Some- 
times the  wind  blows  it  into  ripples,  sometimes  a 
stronger  wind  beats  it  into  white  foam,  the  clouds 
gather,  it  grows  dark,  inky  black,  and  the  rain  comes 
beating  down,  rain  that  must  have  swirled  across  the 
decks  and  threatened  to  swamp  out  the  little  ships — 
their  prison.  But  oftenest,  I know,  that  sea  was 
still,  lovely,  with  the  shallows  like  great  jewelled 
opals  of  tenderest  translucent  green  in  a setting  of 
sparkling  sapphires  and  pearls,  and  entrancing  little 
coves  fringed  by  mangroves  where  the  coconut 
palms  stand  up  tall  and  stately  as  near  the  water  as 
they  can  get,  and  all  this  against  a background  of 
mountains  wooded  to  their  very  peaks,  makes  a 
scene  never  to  be  forgotten.  There  were  no  coconut 
palms  in  the  time  of  Columbus.  They  came  from 
the  mainland,  a right  royal  gift  of  the  Spaniards 
to  the  island  they  made  their  own,  but  there  were 
the  sea  grapes,  great  straggling  bushes  with  big 


8 BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

round  leaves  and  bunches  of  purple  berries  so  like 
grapes  that  it  is  not  till  you  taste  them  you  find  by 
their  slightly  acrid  savour  and  the  big  stone  in  the 
middle  that  they  are  not.  Still,  to  men  after  a 
voyage  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  in 
the  days  of  our  King  Henry  VII.,  those  sea  grapes 
must  have  been  a godsend,  they  and  the  luscious 
naseberries,  which  are  sweet  and  sickly,  but  good  to 
counteract  scurvy. 

I can’t  like  the  naseberry.  The  tree  it  grows  on 
is  large  and  handsome,  but  the  fruit  itself,  which  is 
about  the  size  of  a russet  apple,  cannot  be  eaten  ripe 
from  the  tree  because  it  is  full  of  a whitish  astringent 
juice,  but  must  be  kept  like  the  medlar  till  it  is  well 
on  its  way  to  rottenness  and  then  it  may  be  eaten  with 
a spoon.  Probably  Columbus’s  men  ate  hundreds  of 
them,  grumbling  that  they  had  come  out  to  find  gold 
and  silver,  and  their  leader  had  brought  them  to  a 
watery  prison  where  they  had  to  subsist  on  fish 
which  they  grew  to  loathe,  cassava  bread  and  nase- 
berries, occasionally  traded  by  the  Indians,  sea  grapes 
gathered  by  themselves — poor  substitutes  for  the 
wheaten  bread  and  peaches  and  grapes  of  their 
own  land. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day,  they  looked  out  on 
that  sea  where  there  was  never  a sail.  They  were 
apparently  cut  off  from  all  hopes  of  home,  and  their 
leader  lay  in  his  cabin  crippled  with  gout.  And  then 
the  despised  food  began  to  give  out. 

In  his  despair  Columbus  sent  out  the  first 
exploring  expedition  into  Jamaica.  Diego  Mendez, 
one  of  the  best  and  bravest  of  his  officers,  and  three 
men,  started  to  walk  through  Trelawny,  St  James, 
and  Hanover,  visiting  the  villages  and  interviewing 
the  native  chiefs  and  making  treaties  with  them  by 
which  the  forlorn  company  were  to  receive  regular 


THE  LONELY  HILLSIDES 


9 


supplies  of  food  in  exchange  for  fish  hooks,  knives, 
beads,  combs,  and  such  trifles  as  all  the  world  over 
have  taken  the  fancy  of  primitive  man. 

I have  been  through  these  parishes — in  a motor 
car.  There  are  coconut  walks  there  now,  the  tall 
and  graceful  palms  standing  out  against  the  sky, 
sugar  plantations,  patches  of  vivid  green,  pimento 
groves  with  trees  like  great  myrtles  clothed  in  glossy 
dark  green,  and  rows  of  broad-leaved  bananas  and 
plantains,  and  the  air  is  fragrant  with  the  scent  of 
orange  and  lemon  blossom  and  hundreds  of  other 
growing  things.  On  the  hill  tops  are  the  Great 
Houses  of  the  pen  keepers  and  planters  set  in 
gardens,  with  the  overseers’  and  book  - keepers’ 
houses  lower  down,  and  as  near  the  road  as  they 
can  get,  the  shacks  of  the  negro  helpers  and  inde- 
pendent cultivators.  Strangely  enough,  in  a little 
island  that  has  been  settled  by  Europeans  for  over 
four  hundred  years,  the  roads  that  wander  along  the 
entrancing  sea  shore  and  by  the  mountain  side  often 
look  into  gullies,  at  the  bottom  of  which  it  seems 
as  if  we  might  find  the  villages  where  Diego  Mendez 
made  treaties.  I should  hardly  have  been  surprised  if 
in  one  of  the  little  lonely  coves  we  had  come  across 
the  sunken  ships  of  Columbus  fastened  close  together 
for  safety  and  with  little  houses  thatched  over  in  bow 
and  stern.  There  are  wild  places  still  in  this  island 
which,  after  all,  is  only  4207  square  miles— of  hillside 
— not  much  larger  than  a good  sized  station  in 
Australia,  and  gullies  waiting  for  man  to  come  and 
turn  to  good  account  their  wealth.  Here  is  room, 
and  more  than  room,  for  the  dwellers  in  the  great 
cities  who  have  never  seen  a glorious  sunset  and 
know  not  the  scent  of  a pimento  grove. 

That  meant  for  Columbus  a weary  time  of 
waiting  among  dissatisfied  men,  for  what  adventurer, 


10 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


who  had  come  out  seeking  gold  and  silver  and 
precious  stones,  would  be  content  to  lie  sweltering — 
rotting,  I expect  they  called  it — even  in  the  most 
beautiful  cove  in  the  world.  Presently  the  story 
went  round  that  Columbus  had  been  banished,  his 
prestige  was  gone,  and  two  brothers  named  Porras 
rose  as  leaders  of  the  mutineers. 

Even  the  life  of  the  veteran  was  in  danger.  As 
I write  this  on  my  verandah,  looking  out  over 
the  blue  Caribbean,  with  a little  pauperised  tingting 
bird  sitting  on  the  rail  calling  aloud  that  I have 
always  provided  his  breakfast  and  that  even  little 
slim  black  birds  with  bright  yellow  eyes  can  be 
led  astray  by  too  much  ease  and  comfort,  I seem 
to  realise  with  what  bitterness  the  iron  entered 
into  the  soul  of  the  old  man.  There  was  no  actual 
danger,  they  had  enough  to  eat,  and  could  sleep, 
sheltered  and  in  peace,  and  sooner  or  later  he 
thought  help  would  come.  Patience,  he  preached, 
patience.  But  the  mutineers  would  have  their  way. 
They  built  or  stole  ten  canoes  and  went  out  along 
the  coast,  ravaging  and  pillaging.  The  first  of  the 
pirates  who  ravaged  the  coasts  of  Jamaica  and  their 
victims,  were  not  the  white  people  but  the  gentle 
brown  folk  whom  Columbus  had  designed  to  make 
peacefully  their  slaves.  “ They  wandered  from  village 
to  village,”  says  his  chronicler,  ‘‘a  dissolute  and 
lawless  gang,  supporting  themselves  by  fair  means 
or  foul,  according  as  they  met  with  kindness  or 
hostility,  and  passing  like  a pestilence  through  the 
land.” 

I can  almost  understand  it  and  forgive.  Almost 
anything  was  better  than  sitting  still  watching  the 
sun  climb  over  the  mountain  in  the  morning  and 
sink  into  the  sea  in  the  evening,  waiting,  waiting, 
waiting,  for  the  relief  that  was  so  long  in  coming. 


A LITTLE  HANDFUL  OF  PEOPLE 


11 


For  Mendez  having  got  to  Hispaniola  had  then  to 
make  his  way  to  Spain,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
28th  June  1504  that  relief  ships  came  sailing  in 
and  Columbus  was  able  to  leave  Jamaica.  He  died 
in  1506,  and  by  way  of  recompense,  I suppose,  in 
1508  his  son  Diego  was  appointed  Governor  of  the 
Indies,  and  in  1509  went  out  to  San  Domingo, 
taking  with  him  his  wife,  who  was  a cousin  of  King 
Ferdinand. 

In  Jamaica  under  the  Spaniards,  a translation 
by  Frank  Cundall  and  Joseph  Pieterez  of  documents 
found  in  the  archives  of  Seville  in  Spain,  the  curious 
may  read  the  slow  story  of  the  Spanish  settling  of 
Jamaica  and  its  gradual  evacuation.  They  did  not 
come  in  with  a rush,  for  there  was  no  fabulous 
wealth  of  gold  and  silver  here.  Again  and  again 
the  Spanish  King  urges  the  Governors  to  seek  for 
gold,  but  though  doubtless  they  sought  diligently, 
for  the  finding  would  have  been  the  making  of 
them,  they  found  none,  and  we  cannot  but  feel  that 
the  Spanish  colonists  were  poor  and  of  but  little 
account.  If  you  read  Hans  Sloane  on  the  remains 
he  found  round  about  the  old  city  of  Seville,  your 
sense  of  romance  is  satisfied,  but  the  cold  facts 
taken  from  the  archives  of  Seville  in  Spain  speak 
of  a little  handful  of  poor  people  struggling  with 
an  exuberant  nature.  Here,  as  I write,  there  comes 
to  me  the  smell  of  very  poor  tobacco,  only  fragrant 
in  the  open  air,  and  looking  up  I see  a negro  woman 
in  leisurely  fashion  digging  up  the  weeds  among  the 
grass  of  what  will,  some  day  I hope,  be  a lawn 
under  the  coconut  palms.  How  leisurely  is  that 
fashion  I can  hardly  describe,  save  by  mentioning 
she  only  gets  3s.  6d.  a week,  boards  and  lodges 
herself  and  works  accordingly.  She  has  bare  feet, 
a nondescript,  drab-coloured  garment  that  calls  itself 


12 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


a dress,  and  a ragged  hat  made  out  of  a banana 
trash  and  bound  with  a string  of  bright  red.  She 
is  of  African  descent,  but  not  unlike  her  probably 
were  the  Indians  who  worked  in  the  fields  for  those 
first  Jamaican  colonists.  Yes,  she  is  content,  fairly 
content  I should  say,  almost  too  content,  or  she 
would  strive  a little  to  better  herself. 

I should  like  to  have  seen  the  beginnings  of  the 
Spanish  occupation  of  Jamaica.  How  they  slowly 
set  up  their  hatos  round  the  island,  choosing  out 
the  fertile  river  bottoms  and  fencing  in  their  lands 
lightly,  so  lightly  that  soon  the  lonely  parts  of 
the  island  were  overrun  with  wild  cattle  and  pigs 
descended  from  those  that  escaped.  They  planted 
coconut  palms  and  brought  over  oranges  and  lemons 
and  limes  from  their  native  land  which  took  root 
and  flourished,  so  that  Hans  Sloane,  writing  thirty 
years  after  the  Spaniards  had  been  driven  out,  talks 
of  the  orange  and  lime  walks,  and  nowadays  if  you 
want  orange  trees  on  your  land  you  have  only  to 
throw  out  one  or  two  rotten  oranges  to  have  a crop 
of  young  seedlings. 

“The  buildings  of  the  Spaniards,”  says  Hans 
Sloane,  “on  this  island  were  usually  one  Story  high, 
having  a Porch,  a Parlour,  and  at  each  end  a Eoom 
with  small  ones  behind  for  Closets  etc.  They  built 
with  Posts  put  deep  into  the  ground,  on  the  sides 
their  Houses  were  plaistered  up  with  Clay  on  Reeds, 
or  made  of  the  split  Truncs  of  Cabbage  Trees  naiPd 
close  to  one  another  and  covered  with  Tiles  or 
Palmetto  Thatch.  The  Lowness  as  well  as  the 
fixing  the  Posts  deep  in  the  Earth  was  for  fear  their 
Houses  should  be  ruin’d  by  Earthquakes,  as  well 
as  for  Coolness.” 

Immediately  they  settled,  the  Spaniards  rounded- 
up  the  luckless  Indians.  Their  lot  was  hard  enough, 


THE  LOT  OF  THE  INDIANS  13 

though  possibly  not  as  hard  as  that  of  those  driven 
to  work  in  the  mines,  and  as  labourers  on  the  hatos 
they  soon  began  to  fail  their  masters.  Perhaps  that 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Las  Casas,  the  benevolent 
bishop,  who  is  responsible  for  the  first  introduction 
of  negro  slaves  into  the  New  World  says,  ‘'they 
hanged  the  unfortunates  by  thirteens  in  honour  of 
the  thirteen  apostles.  I have  beheld  them  throw 
the  Indian  infants  to  their  dogs ; I have  seen  five 
caciques  burnt  alive  ; I have  heard  the  Spaniards 
borrow  the  limb  of  an  human  being  to  feed  their 
dogs  and  next  day  return  a quarter  to  the  lender.’’ 

It  seems  a gruesome  enough  story,  and  where 
the  mercy  came  in  from  Las  Casas’  point  of  view 
in  substituting  negroes  for  the  Indians  I do  not 
know,  especially  as  they  say  the  negroes  were 
infinitely  inferior  to  the  Indians,  and  as  long  as  the 
Spaniards  could  get  the  latter  they  preferred  them. 

But  that  the  Spaniards  destroyed  all  the  Indians 
there  is  no  doubt.  They  were  a mild  and  indolent 
brown  people,  very  like  those  now  to  be  seen  in 
British  Guiana,  but  historians  differ  as  to  their 
numbers:  one  man  says  that  “in  Jamaica  and  the 
adjacent  islands  within  less  than  twenty  years  the 
Spaniards  destroyed  more  than  1,200,000,”  but  later 
researches  have  brought  the  figure  in  Jamaica  down 
to  about  60,000,  a much  more  likely  number,  and 
after  all  quite  enough  to  destroy  in  t^venty  years. 

They  lived,  these  Spanish  conquerors,  on  the 
island  for  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  a poor 
little  company,  or  so  I gather,  but  rich  in  the  fruits 
of  the  earth.  And  the  people  at  home  took  a 
fatherly  interest  in  them.  If  an  emigrant  left  his 
wife  at  home,  he  had  to  have  her  written  consent 
to  his  going  and  give  security  that  he  would  return 
for  her  within  three  years.  And  this  security  was 


14  BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

evidently  very  necessary,  for  among  the  archives  at 
Seville  there  is  a note  touching  a lady  of  Ciudad 
Rodrigo  complaining  to  the  Queen  in  1533  that  her 
husband  had  deserted  her  twenty-five  years  before 
to  go  to  the  Indies  and  had  married  another  lady 
in  Jamaica,  where  he  was  settled.  But  though  the 
Queen  ordered  that  the  matter  should  be  looked 
into  and  justice  done,  there  is  no  end  to  the 
story. 

Though  we  talk  about  the  Spanish  towns  in 
Jamaica,  they  were  really  very  small.  In  July  1534 
there  were  but  eighty  citizens  in  the  town  of  Seville, 
and  of  these  soon  after  only  twenty  remained,  the 
others  having  died  of  diseases  and  pestilences  ! 
And  we  are  told  that  in  twenty  years  they  had  not 
reared  ten  infants,  a pitiful  return.  In  the  first  record 
we  get  of  Spanish  Town,  it  had  only  one  hundred 
inhabitants.  In  1597  a Governor  named  Fernando 
Melgarejo  de  Cordova  came  out  for  six  years.  He 
brought  with  him  by  permission  four  servants,  jewels 
to  the  value  of  200  ducats  (roughly  worth  £40),  a 
black  slave,  four  swords,  four  daggers,  and  four  of 
each  kind  of  other  arms,  and  his  salary  was  300,000 
maravedis,  which  sounds  a great  deal,  but  as  a 
maravedi  was  equal  to  half  a farthing  he  only  had 
£156  a year,  surely  a small  sum  even  for  those  times 
when  money  was  worth  so  much  more,  and  Jamaica, 
too,  as  his  advisers  were  never  tired  of  impressing  on 
the  King  of  Spain,  was  a valuable  colony,  and  if  it 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  King’s  enemies  none  of  the 
other  colonies  would  be  safe. 

When  Melgarejo  arrived,  he  found  the  Englishman 
Sir  Anthony  Shirley  had  sacked  and  held  to  ransom 
the  Villa  de  la  Vega,  the  city  of  the  plains,  the 
capital,  guided  thereto  by  a native  Indian,  and  proud 
as  we  are  of  our  old-time  mariners,  still  the  times 


THE  STRUGGLES  OF  THE  SPANIARD  15 

were  rough  and  merciless,  their  ways  matched  the 
times,  and  we  may  pity  the  people  who  waked  up 
that  hot  August  morning  in  1597  to  find  that  their 
hereditary  enemies  the  English  were  upon  them. 
Sir  Anthony  Shirley  claimed  that  while  he  was  in 
Jamaica  he  was  '‘absolute  master  of  the  whole,” 
and  he  seems  to  have  made  arrangements  for  his 
return  with  the  comfortable  conviction  that  he  could 
certainly  provision  his  ships  with  beef  and  cassava, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  cooling  fruits  which  by  this 
time  were  plentiful  and  must  have  been  of  inestimable 
value  to  these  wanderers  upon  the  seas. 

Sir  Anthony  Shirley  was  only  one  of  many.  For 
these  corsairs  who  soon  came  to  Jamaica  regularly 
were  drawn  from  all  the  nations  of  Europe  and 
“they  rob  and  they  trade,”  wrote  the  worried 
Governor. 

And  when  they  didn’t  trade  and  they  didn’t  rob 
they  helped  themselves  not  only  to  wood  and  water 
but  to  beef  and  pork,  that  was  running  wild  it  is 
true,  but  naturally  the  Spaniards  considered  it  theirs, 
and  then  sometimes,  when  they  had  raided  a little 
too  often,  the  tables  were  turned  and  they  left  their 
bones  there. 

Don  Fernando  goes  at  length  into  his  prowess  in 
going  out  in  a boat  to  defend  a frigate — a frigate  was 
a very  small  ship  in  those  days — that  two  English 
launches  had  boarded  and  he  says  he  retook  that 
frigate  and  made  them  retire.  More,  he  sent  Captain 
Sebastian  Gonzalez — there  is  a swagger  in  his  name 
— with  troops  by  land  to  Port  Negrillo,  there  “to 
wait  till  the  Captain  of  the  English  corsair  should 
go  to  obtain  water  and  capture  him;  and  they  lay 
in  wait  for  him  and  killed  those  who  landed  and 
brought  back  their  ears,  broke  the  jars  to  pieces  and 
burnt  the  boat.” 


16 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


And  so  the  story  of  Jamaica  goes  on  in  the  Seville 
archives,  a tale  of  a small  people  with  stocks  of 
horses  and  cattle  and  pigs,  a tale  of  struggles  to 
build  churches,  and  to  hold  the  island,  because 
though  no  gold  or  silver  had  been  found,  it  was  yet 
too  central  to  allow  any  other  nation  to  settle  there. 

But  it  rose  in  value,  for  the  next  Governor,  Alonzo 
de  Miranda,  had  his  salary  increased  to  close  on 
£400  a year.  He  was  much  worried  by  a Portuguese 
corsair  named  Mota,  who  ‘‘  with  two  launches  and  a 
tender  was  going  along  the  whole  coast  sacking  and 
plundering  the  ranches  and  seizing  the  inhabitants 
and  doing  many  other  injuries,  to  remedy  which  I 
was  obliged  to  assemble  a fleet  by  sea,  and  go  myself 
by  land  with  soldiers  to  defeat  the  design  of  the 
enemies  and  they  went  away  from  the  coast.  With 
all  that,  I have  had  information  that  in  the  remote 
cattle  hunting  places  they  land,  and  with  some  of  the 
cow  catchers  who  have  run  away  from  Espanola, 
whom  they  bring,  they  dress  hides  and  supply  them- 
selves with  meat.”  This,  he  goes  on  to  say,  “cannot 
be  remedied  without  much  cost  and  expense.” 

When  first  I went  to  Jamaica,  a friend,  Mr 
Clarence  Lopez,  with  kindness  I can  never  forget, 
lent  me  a house  in  the  northern  part  of  the  island 
in  the  parish  of  Trelawny.  It  was  the  Great  House 
on  the  Hyde,  a pen  about  eight  miles  as  the  crow 
flies  from  the  sea.  Jamaica  is  144  miles  long  at  the 
longest  portion  and  49  miles  broad  at  the  broadest, 
it  is  little  more  than  half  the  size  of  Wales,  but  when 
I went  to  that  house  set  on  the  side  of  a mountain 
with  a glorious  view  of  hill  and  valley,  coco-palm 
and  banana,  I went  to  the  very  loneliest  place  I have 
ever  lived  in  in  my  life,  and  I have  been  in  many 
lands.  It  is  one  of  the  loveliest  too.  Behind  are 
the  mountains,  clothed  to  their  peaks  in  woodland. 


THE  HYDE 


17 


bound  together  with  all  manner  of  creeping  vines  and 
the  mountains  ding  their  arms  round,  so  that  they  seem 
to  guard  the  old  house  from  the  winds  of  the  south, 
and  all  in  the  ground  grow  pimento  and  orange  and 
lemon  trees,  handsome,  broad-leaved  bread-fruit  and 
tall  naseberry  trees,  while  the  little  garden  on  a 
plateau  just  behind  the  house  is  a wilderness  of 
roses,  pink  and  white,  and  red  and  yellow,  and 
fragrant  as  the  first  roses  that  ever  grew  in  a Persian 
garden.  The  house  is  two  storied,  and  though  it  has 
many  annexes  the  main  building  stands  by  itself. 
Much  money  has  been  expended  upon  it.  Two  great 
flights  of  stone  steps  lead  up  to  the  porch  at  the 
front  door,  the  floor  of  which  is  tessellated  as  carefully 
as  if  it  had  been  done  in  Italy ; all  the  handles  of 
the  doors  are  of  heavy  cut  glass  and  so  are  the  door 
plates,  while  gilded  beading  decorates  what  they 
call  in  Jamaica  the  two  great  halls,  that  is  the 
dining  room  downstairs  and  its  fellow  upstairs.  The 
floors  are  of  polished  mahogany  and  so  is  the 
staircase;  but  no  one  had  lived  in  it  for  years  and 
“Ichabod  ” was  written  over  everything. 

It  had  been  built  with  a view  to  defence,  there 
was  no  doubt  about  it.  On  the  porch  a couple  of 
men  with  guns  could  hold  the  front  of  the  house, 
in  the  hall  there  is  a trap-door  leading  to  the  storey 
below,  cellars  half  underground,  and  in  the  walls  in 
front  are  loop-holes  through  which  a man  might 
easily  shoot.  The  second  storey  overhangs  the  first 
a little  and  there  is  not  a corner  but  could  easily 
be  held  by  a man  with  a gun.  Yes,  decidedly  it  was 
built  for  defence,  such  defence  as  might  be  needed 
in  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  or  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  centuries.  The  first  night  we  spent  there, 
my  companion,  Eva  Parsons,  and  I alone  with  the 
weird  black  servants  who  had  seen  but  very  few 


18  BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

white  people  and  whose  ways  were  strange  to  us, 
we  felt  the  loneliness  keenly.  Eva  was  ill,  and  she 
was  a Londoner  born  and  bred.  There  were  rats 
racing  about  downstairs,  there  were  bats  making 
curious  sounds  in  the  roof,  and  when  a potoo  bird 
gave  vent  to  its  long  drawn-out  uncanny  cry,  Eva 
abandoned  courage  and  came  flying  into  my  room. 
And  she  was  no  coward.  I comforted  her  to  the 
best  of  my  ability,  and  we  decided  that  until  we  got 
the  house  a little  more  habitable  one  bedroom  was 
quite  big  enough  for  the  two  of  us. 

But  what  must  it  have  been  like  on  those  ranches 
in  the  old  days  when  the  Spaniards  were  few  and 
scattered,  and  the  corsairs,  English  and  Portuguese 
and  French  and  Dutch,  and  a nondescript  crowd  that 
were  worse  than  any,  came  cruising  along  the  coasts 
and  landed  and  attacked  the  lonely  houses  ? Think 
of  the  women  who  lay  still  shivering  or  crept  to  each 
other’s  rooms  and  wondered  was  that  the  pirates  or 
was  it  only  a rat,  or  possibly  a bat  in  the  roof  ? Or 
that  weird  sound  ? — Was  it  a potoo  bird  killing  rats  ? 
or  was  it  an  English  sailor  calling  to  his  mate  in  his 
harsh,  unknown  tongue  ? 

“ Except  in  the  principal  one,  Caguya,”  says 
Sedeno  de  Albornoz,  speaking  of  the  corsairs,  “they 
anchor  in  the  ports  without  being  disturbed  by  any- 
one, and  refit  and  careen  their  ships  with  perfect 
ease  as  if  in  their  country.  I can  certify  that,  while 
a prisoner  of  theirs,  I have  heard  with  much  concern 
many  conversations  with  regard  to  colonising  this 
island  and  fortifying  two  ports,  one  on  the  north  side 
and  one  on  the  south.  I always  told  them  that  there 
was  a garrison  of  ten  companies  of  infantry  stationed 
by  the  King  our  master,  besides  three  in  the  town, 
and  two  of  mounted  mulattoes  and  free  negroes 
armed  with  hocking  knives  and  half  moons,  of  whom 


THE  ENGLISH  INVASION  19 

they  are  much  afraid.  They  did  not  like  that  reply, 
and  though  doubtful  contradicted  me,  saying  they 
knew  very  well  what  was  in  the  island.  It  is  very 
certain  that  it  is  more  important  to  them  than  any 
other,  as  it  is  better  and  more  fertile  and  abundant 
than  all  those  they  have  settled  in  the  Indies ; nor 
is  there  another  like  it  in  the  Indies.  Cuba  and 
Espanola  are  indeed  much  larger,  but  Jamaica  in 
its  entirety  is  more  plentiful  than  these,  for  it  has 
much  horned  stock,  and  herds  of  tame  swine,  and 
wild  ones  in  great  numbers,  from  the  hunting  of 
which  every  year  is  obtained  a quantity  of  lard  that 
serves  instead  of  oil  for  cooking.’'  So  much  lard 
that  there  are  people  who  declare  that  Montego  Bay, 
from  which  much  lard  was  exported,  took  its  name 
from  a corruption  of  the  Spanish  word  for  lard. 

“Likewise,”  goes  on  Sedeno,  “there  is  a large 
number  of  good  horses,  donkeys,  and  mules,  fisheries 
of  turtle  and  dainty  fish,  and  a very  fine  climate  from 
its  healthy  airs  and  waters.”  Indeed  he  cannot  say 
enough  for  the  island.  He  finishes,  “there  are  now 
a little  over  300  colonists,  mostly  poor  people. 
Nearly  450  men  bear  arms,”  so  I suppose  he  only 
counts  those  as  colonists  who  actually  settled  on  the 
land,  “including  the  hunters  and  country  folks,  all  of 
whom  are  labouring  people,  strong  and  suitable  for 
war  by  reason  of  their  courageous  spirits  if  indeed 
lacking  military  discipline.” 

And  even  as  he  wrote  the  enemy  was  within  the 
gates,  and  the  Governor  of  Jamaica  writes  despair- 
ingly to  the  King  of  Spain.  He  says  53  ships  of 
war — there  were  really  38 — came  in  sight  of  the 
island,  and  they  bore  15,000  seamen  and  soldiers, 
while  the  invaders  claim  they  conquered  with  7000 
soldiers  and  a sea  regiment  of  1000.  But  he  probably 
is  right  when  he  says  “ there  are  8000  souls  scattered 


20 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


about  the  mountains,  children,  women,  and  slaves, 
without  any  hope  of  protection  except  from  God, 
with  the  enemy’s  knife  every  hour  at  their  throats.” 
We  hear  so  little  about  the  women  and  children  in 
these  wars  of  conquest  and  yet  on  them  most  heavily 
of  all  must  have  pressed  the  difficulties  and  the 
dangers. 

And  the  Governor  died  a prisoner  of  war,  and 
finally  this  Governorship  which  never  seems  to  have 
been  much  sought  after  and  was  worth  nothing,  now 
descended  upon  Christ  oval  Arnaldo  Ysassi,  who  was 
not  even  a trained  soldier. 

The  rest  of  the  pitiful  story  is  one  of  flight,- 
flight,  flight,  the  Spaniards  always  pressed  northward, 
always  begging  and  praying  help  from  Cuba,  begging 
for  bread  and  getting  a stone. 

For  we  say  Jamaica  was  conquered  in  1655,  but 
it  takes  a long  while  for  a people  who  are  holding 
a land  by  guerilla  warfare  to  understand  that  they  are 
beaten,  and  it  was  evident  that  Ysassi  was  heartened 
by  many  a skirmish  that  seemed  to  him  a success. 
Towards  the  end  of  October  1656,  however,  we  find 
the  King  of  Spain  writing^ — “The  English  have  a 
foothold  in  Jamaica,  obstructing  the  commerce  of 
all  the  islands  to  windward  with  the  coasts  of  the 
mainland  and  of  New  Spain.  The  fleets  and  galleons 
run  great  risk  in  passing  by  Jamaica.” 

But  even  in  March  of  the  next  year  the  Viceroy 
of  Mexico  writes  to  Ysassi  congratulating  him  on 
his  appointment  to  the  Government  of  Jamaica, 
though  he  himself  was  beginning  to  realise  wffiat  a 
hollow  farce  it  was. 

However  he  made  it  unpleasant  for  the  arrogant 
invaders.  “I  now  send  a smart  English  sergeant,” 
he  writes,  “ who  will  give  your  Excellency  lengthy 
news  of  the  whole  state  of  the  island.”  Poor  English 


THE  ENGLISH  SERGEANT 


21 


sergeant,  smart  even  in  his  captivity ! I hope  they 
did  not  make  things  very  hard  for  him  in  Mexico. 
That  is  the  worst  of  history.  The  ultimate  fate  of 
the  pawns  is  never  told,  only  in  these  state  papers 
there  is  that  one  entry  that  pictures  for  us  the  upright 
young  figure  with  the  keen  blue  eyes  and  firm  set 
mouth,  firm  even  in  misfortune.  God  rest  his  soul ! 
and  God  bless  him  for  keeping  up  the  honour  of 
the  English  nation. 

Even  when  reliefs  did  come,  they  brought  little 
comfort  to  the  harassed  Governor.  In  August  1657, 
two  captains  landed  at  Ochos  Eios,  not  far  from 
where  Columbus  spent  his  weary  year.  They  were 
supposed  to  help  the  Spanish  Governor  but,  as 
soldiers,  they  pointed  out  to  him  the  hopelessness  of 
the  situation.  They  said  he  could  not  succeed  in 
the  interior,  that  “it  will  cost  some  trouble  to  capture 
any  horses  from  the  enemy,  and  with  infantry  the  risk 
is  manifest.”  I have  seen  the  country  and  I can’t 
imagine  how  they  thought  to  use  horses. 

But  in  spite  of  these  Job’s  comforters,  Ysassi  kept 
writing  bravely  to  the  Viceroy  that  he  was  harrying 
the  enemy,  that  still  they  could  not  get  any  good  from 
the  hatos  that  they  held. 

“Those  who  come  to  get  beef,  die  without  anyone 
being  left  to  carry  the  news  ...”  What  a picture 
of  bloodthirsty,  merciless  war  it  gives  us  ! When  the 
great  golden  moon  sends  her  light  streaming  through 
the  coconut  walks,  and  the  glorious  night  is  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  the  orange  flowers  and  the  pimento 
groves,  I cannot  but  think  of  those  bloody  days  in 
the  seventeenth  century  when  the  English  drove  the 
Spaniards  to  the  remote  corners  of  the  island,  and  the 
Spaniards  in  their  turn  killed  remorselessly,  so  that 
none  should  go  back  to  tell  the  tale. 

Again  he  reports  in  the  middle  of  September, 

c 


22 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


“I  sallied  out  upon  the  road  to  encounter  them  with 
the  few  troops  I had,  which  were  about  80  men” 
(Oh,  for  the  might  of  Spain !)  “ because  the  others 
are  without  shoes  and  not  accustomed  to  the  dis- 
comforts of  the  open  country.” 

He  descants  on  their  ragged  condition.  “The 
few  soldiers  I have  are  naked  and  barefoot  and 
cannot  stand  the  mosquitoes”  (I  sympathise  with 
them) — “Please  help  them.”  He  has  not  even  paper 
to  write  his  reports  and  the  whole  history  is 
punctuated  with  prayers  for  provisions,  “ for  soldiers 
will  fight  badly  if  they  have  nothing  to  eat  and  are 
badly  clothed.  I assure  your  Excellency  that  some 
die  reduced  to  sticks.” 

It  was  evidently  a prolonged  series  of  skirmishes, 
with  sometimes  one  party  conquering,  sometimes  the 
other,  but  the  Spaniards  seem  to  have  thought  their 
re-establishment  was  merely  a matter  of  time.  Once 
they  gave  their  minds  to  the  matter  they  must  win, 
and  meanwhile  Ysassi  was  doing  useful  work  holding 
the  place  till  the  good  time  came.  They  could  not 
believe  they  had  lost  J amaica. 

“For  the  love  of  God,”  he  prays  the  Governor  of 
Cuba,  “I  again  ask  you  to  send  me  not  linen,  or  a 
new  shirt,  because  I do  not  make  use  of  it  ” (a  gallant 
of  Spain !)  “but  some  old  cloth.” 

But  brave  Ysassi  was  nearing  the  end.  In 
July  1658  he  had  reinforcements  from  Mexico  but 
is  obliged  to  write  sadly — “In  fine,  sir,  on  this 
26th  June  the  enemy  defeated  me  with  the  loss  of 
300  men  although  his  loss,  so  far  as  troops  are 
concerned,  was  greater.”  (The  pitiful  pride!)  “If 
they  beat  me,”  he  says  in  effect,  “me  starving, 
short  of  ammunition,  provisions,  everything  that 
might  enable  me  to  make  good,  at  least  I have 
given  them  something  better  than  they  gave  me.” 


THE  FIRST  MAROONS 


23 


And  so  he  sends  the  remnant  of  his  army  into  the 
mountains  to  forage  for  themselves  and  he  speaks 
of  the  negro  slaves,  the  first  mention  we  have  of 
the  Maroons  that  have  figured  so  largely  in  Jamaican 
history. 

‘‘The  negroes,  Sir,’’  he  writes  to  his  King,  “who 
have  remained  fugitives  from  their  masters  who  have 
abandoned  the  island  and  your  Majesty’s  arms,  are 
more  than  two  hundred,  but  many  have  died,  and 
I inform  your  Majesty  so  that  you  may  command 
what  is  most  suitable  to  your  Royal  Service  to 
whoever  may  come  to  govern  the  island.  I have 
not  done  a small  thing  in  conserving  them,  keeping 
them  under  my  obedience,  when  they  have  been 
sought  after  with  papers  from  the  enemy.  I have 
promised  their  Chiefs  freedom  in  your  Majesty’s 
name  but  have  not  given  it  until  I receive  an  order 
for  it.”  As  if  his  gift  of  freedom  could  have  mattered 
very  much  to  the  negroes,  who  already  had  the 
freedom  of  the  hills  and  the  hunted  Spaniards  much 
at  their  mercy. 

And  here  again  we  are  faced  with  contradictions 
that  make  me  glad  it  is  not  my  business  to  write 
history. 

“ The  Spaniards  in  their  authority  over  their 
slaves,”  writes  the  very  verbose  Bridges,  “appear 
to  have  been  restrained  by  no  law  whatever;  but 
were  sanctioned  in  every  act  which  could  extort  their 
labour  or  secure  their  obedience,  so  long  however 
as  the  strength  of  the  native  Indians  withstood  the 
execrable  cruelties  of  their  Castilian  taskmasters,  the 
negroes  were  considered  as  very  inferior  workmen. 
Ovando  complained  of  their  continued  importation 
to  Hispaniola,  where  he  found  them  but  idle  labourers, 
who  took  every  opportunity  of  escaping  into  the 
woods,  and  assisting  the  natives  in  their  feeble 


24  BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

attempts  to  throw  off  the  Spanish  yoke.  But  as 
Indian  life  wasted,  negro  labour  became  necessary  to 
supply  its  place.” 

And  yet  after  that  he  goes  on  to  say : “ The 
British  conquerors  profited  but  little  by  the  negroes 
whom  they  found  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  and 
whose  services  were  inseparable  from  the  hard  fate 
of  their  expatriated  owners.  ...  Not  five  hundred 
slaves  were  employed  in  the  cultivation  containing 
more  than  two  million  acres  of  the  richest  land. 
The  degeneracy  of  their  masters  had  reduced  all 
classes  to  nearly  an  equality ; so  that  in  fact  slavery 
hardly  existed  in  Jamaica.  Poverty  had  for  a series 
of  years  forbidden  a further  importation  of  Africans ; 
the  negro  race  had  rapidly  decayed,  and  the  few 
that  were  left  were  employed  to  supply  the  wants 
of  the  indolent  Spaniards  in  Saint  Jago,  by  the 
cultivation  of  their  hatos  in  the  country,  and  were  pre- 
served with  the  greatest  care  and  cherished  as  their 
own  children.  . . . The  easy  condition  of  the  slaves 
was  manifested  in  their  attachment  to  the  fallen 
fortunes  of  their  masters ; and  they  were  confidently 
left  by  them  to  retain  possession  of  an  island  which 
they  could  no  longer  keep  themselves.”  Surely  a 
curious  way  to  end  a paragraph  which  began  by 
declaiming  against  the  unbridled  cruelty  of  the 
Spaniards.  So  they  were  not  all  cruel,  and  even 
troubled  Ysassi  felt  sure  that  the  runaway  negroes 
would  prefer  the  Spanish  rule  to  the  English. 
Perhaps  there  was  something  in  the  devil  they  knew. 

In  Spain  the  enquiries  into  the  state  of  the 
country  appear  to  have  been  endless.  It  was  easier 
to  hold  the  north  side  of  the  island,  the  fleeing 
Spaniards  wrote  them,  and  one  man  tells  how  his 
hunting  slaves  were  enabled  to  help  the  unfortunates 
who  had  abandoned  their  katos  on  the  south  and 


FINAL  CONQUEST  25 

fled  into  the  mountains  in  the  north.  I see  those 
frightened  women  and  children,  toiling  along  through 
the  mountain  passes,  perhaps  taking  it  in  turns  to 
ride  a mule  or  donkey,  afraid  of  the  hunting  slaves, 
savage  men  with  little  clothing  and  yet  thankful  for 
the  meat  and  wild  fruits  they  gave  them.  And  they 
said  that  in  the  first  three  years  they  had  killed 
nearly  2500  of  the  enemy’s  men,  “ while  on  our  side 
very  few  were  lost.  The  enemy  also  suffered  from 
a pestilence  from  which  more  than  6000  died.”  And 
so  they  buoyed  themselves  up  with  false  hopes. 
But  whether  they  were  killed  or  wounded  or  died 
of  pestilence  these  persistent  English  came  on  and 
pushed  them  farther  and  farther  towards  the  north. 
Even  the  mountains  were  no  refuge,  and  we  read  how 
sick  men,  women  and  children,  Spanish  colonists  and 
slaves,  “embarked  in  one  of  his  Majesty’s  smacks,” 
that  made  several  trips  by  order  of  the  Governor 
of  Cuba  who  charged  (the  wretch ! to  take  such 
advantage  of  their  desperate  straits)  “ for  each  person 
removed  from  Jamaica,  even  infants,  at  the  rate  of 
ten  and  twelve  pesos  ” (about  thirty  shillings).  One 
family  even  paid  him  more  than  three  times  that, 
so  evidently  there  were  pickings  attached  to  a 
Spanish  Governorship. 

And  at  last  in  February  1660  even  brave  Ysassi 
must  have  seen,  and  seen  thankfully,  I should  think, 
that  the  end  was  approaching.  He  was  defeated 
at  Manegua  (Moneague) — it  is  a pleasure  resort  up 
among  the  hills  nowadays,  where  the  tourists  come 
from  England  and  America — and  at  a Council  of  War 
the  abandonment  of  the  island  was  recommended. 

Slowly,  slowly,  it  had  come  to  that,  after  all  the 
hopes,  all  the  sacrifices,  all  the  fighting,  all  the  long, 
long  struggle  and  suffering,  after  nearly  five  years 
of  it  they  must  go.  The  English  offered  terms,  but 


26  BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

the  Spanish  were  proud  and  haggled,  and  though  the 
English  seem  to  have  been  more  than  kindly  and 
courteous  the  Spaniards  were  loth  to  give  in,  and 
finally  we  find  D’Oyley,  the  English  Governor,  writing 
the  time  for  capitulating  has  expired.”  The  English 
would  have  sent  them  to  Cuba,  sent  them  with  all 
honour,  but  the  Spanish  Governor,  who  had  never 
been  more  than  the  shadow  of  a Governor  of  Jamaica, 
could  not  give  in.  He  complains  that  the  English 
only  undertook  to  send  away  the  Spaniards  to  Cuba, 
“as  the  greater  part  of  the  force  were  Indians, 
Negroes,  and  Mulattos,  without  counting  Slaves  and 
Coloured  domestic  servants.  ...  I determined  to 
die  sooner  than  abandon  or  leave  the  meanest  of 
those  who  had  been  with  me  . . . the  troops,” 
he  goes  on  pathetically,  he  had  advised  the  Governor 
of  Cuba,  “were  very  dejected  and  weak  from  want 
of  food  and  eaten  up  with  lice,  for  not  even  the 
Captains  had  more  clothes  than  what  they  wore.” 
So  he  decided  to  build  two  canoes  and  in  fifteen 
days  they  were  finished  and  provided  with  sails, 
“from  some  sheets  belonging  to  the  hunters  who 
had  escaped.”  We  can  see  those  canoes  building, 
the  careful  watch  that  had  to  be  kept  lest  the 
English  should  catch  them,  the  subdued  triumph 
when  they  were  all  complete,  the  despair  when  it 
was  found  they  would  only  hold  seventy-six  people, 
and  so,  after  all  his  protestations,  “ I was  obliged  to 
leave  in  the  island  thirty-six  under  the  charge  of  one 
of  the  Captains  who  was  assisting  me.” 

And  they  call  the  cove  where  he  embarked 
Eimaway  Bay.  It  is  a misnomer,  and  a slur  on  the 
memory  of  a brave  man.  Sm^ely  no  man  ever  turned 
his  back  on  the  enemy  more  reluctantly. 

They  came  in  safety  to  Cuba  and  no  mention  is 
ever  made  of  the  thirty-six  left  behind  and  the 


RELICS  OF  THE  SPANIARDS  27 

captain  who  stayed  with  them.  I like  to  think 
that  Ysassi  sent  for  them  when  he  could. 

The  road  that  runs  right  round  the  island  passes 
close  to  that  little  bay  now,  and  the  waters  of  the 
blue  Caribbean,  calm  and  still,  mirror  the  blue  skies 
above  as  they  did  on  that  long  ago  May  day  when 
the  last  Spanish  Governor  of  Jamaica  embarked  in 
a frail  canoe  and  waving  his  hand  to  those  he  left 
behind  set  sail  for  Cuba  to  the  north.  This  was 
the  end  of  the  high  adventure.  The  very  end ! 
The  Spanish  rule  was  over,  the  valued  island  that 
lay  right  in  the  fairway  of  commerce  — it  lies  so 
still — was  lost  for  ever  to  the  Spanish  Crown  and 
its  last  Governor  was  going  away  a broken  and 
discredited  man. 

And  bitterly  the  Spaniards  regretted  the  loss. 
Pedro  de  Bayoha,  ‘‘Governor  of  the  City  of  Cuba,” 
wrote  to  the  King  setting  forth  its  many  advantages, 
“any  fleet  however  large  can  lie  and  careen  its  ships, 
and  any  army  can  march,  as  food  is  very  plentiful 
and  the  island  abounding  in  tame  and  wild  cattle 
as  well  as  swine,  the  quantity  of  which  is  so  great 
that  every  year  twenty  thousand  head  are  killed 
for  the  lard  and  fat  and  no  use  is  made  of  the  meat.” 
So  we  gather  that  Ysassi  was  not  very  good  at 
the  commissariat.  Perhaps  the  English  harried  him 
too  much. 

It  has  been  said  with  some  surprise  that  there 
are  few  relics  of  the  Spaniards  in  the  island.  Por 
me,  I marvel  that  there  is  after  all  these  years  still 
so  much.  The  oranges  and  the  limes,  the  pome- 
granates and  the  coconut  palms  are  a monument 
to  them,  and  still  at  Montego  Bay  is  to  be  seen 
the  outlines  of  a dark  stone  fort  that  overlooked 
the  beautiful  bay  and  guarded  the  town.  And 
though  Indian  corn  has  been  sown  in  the  court- 


28 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


yards  for  many  a long  day,  some  of  the  old  cannon 
that  belonged  to  his  Spanish  Majesty  still  lie  about. 
The  climate  of  Jamaica  is  against  the  preservation^ 
of  relics  of  the  past.  “Tis  a very  strange  thing,'* 
says  Hans  Sloane,  accustomed  to  the  slow  growth 
of  Northern  climes,  “to  see  in  how  short  a time 
a plantation  formerly  clear  of  trees  and  shrubs  will 
grow  foul,  which  comes  from  two  causes ; the  one 
not  stubbing  up  the  roots,  whence  arise  young  sprouts, 
and  the  other  the  fertility  of  the  soil.  The  settlements 
and  plantations  of  not  only  the  Indians  but  even 
the  Spaniards  being  quite  overgrown  with  tall  trees, 
so  that  there  is  no  footsteps  of  such  a thing  left 
were  it  not  for  the  old  palisadoes,  buildings,  orange 
walks,  etc.,  which  show  plainly  the  formerly  cleared 
places  where  plantations  have  been.”  And  Sloane, 
who  was  physician  to  the  Duke  of  Albemarle,  the 
Governor,  writes  of  1688,  not  thirty  years  after  the 
last  Spanish  Governor  had  fled. 

Even  now  in  Jamaica  there  are  tales  of  buried 
treasure.  In  1916  the  “Busha”  or  superintendent 
of  an  estate  in  Westmoreland  was  engaged  in  pulling 
down  a stout  stone  wall,  evidently  built  in  the  old 
days  by  slave  labour.  Each  stone  was  well  and 
truly  laid,  and  tradition  said  the  wall  was  Spanish. 
One  of  the  workmen  said  he  had  come  to  a hollow 
place.  And  sure  enough  there  was  a large  jar 
stuffed  full  of  old  Spanish  gold  and  silver  coins, 
hidden  I suppose  when  the  Spanish  owner  of  the 
hato  fled  before  the  incoming  of  the  English. 
Tradition  says  there  are  many  more,  but  within 
the  last  year  or  two  the  Crown,  I hear,  has  insisted 
on  its  right  of  treasure  trove,  so  that  it  is  exceedingly 
unlikely  anyone  finding  such  will  proclaim  the  fact 
aloud.  The  Spanish  colonists  it  is  true  were  but 
a poor  people,  but  even  the  poorest  have  need  of 


THE  LITTLE  GOLD  SOLDIER 


29 


some  little  money,  and  in  the  days  when  banks  were 
not  much  in  vogue,  cash  that  would  not  go  into 
the  breeches  pocket  had  to  be  kept  somewhere. 

Bridges  tells  how  ‘‘a  miniature  figure  of  pure 
gold  representing  a Spanish  soldier  with  a matchlock 
in  his  hand  was  lately  found  in  the  woods  of  the 
parish  of  Manchester.  How  it  came  there  remains 
a mystery ; for  those  extensive  forests  bear  no  marks 
of  having  ever  been  opened,  or  even  penetrated 
until  lately.”  And  Bridges  wrote  about  1828. 

But  gold  is  not  to  be  lightly  worn  or  washed 
away.  I can  imagine  the  young  Spanish  wife  who 
owned  that  little  golden  soldier  and  counted  him 
a very  precious  possession.  And  so,  when  she  fled 
with  her  baby  in  her  arms  and  her  little  daughter 
clinging  to  her  skirts,  she  carried  it  with  her.  And 
then  came  the  day  when  the  English  pressed  them 
hard,  and  perhaps  her  husband,  perhaps  the  head 
slave,  called  to  her  to  hurry,  they  must  get  away, 
and  the  baby  cried  because  she  had  so  little  to 
give  it,  and  the  little  maid  whimpered  when  she 
fell  among  the  leafy  thorns  and  rough  stones  on 
the  steep  mountain  path,  and  her  mother  bending 
over  to  comfort  her  dropped  the  little  golden  Spanish 
soldier  that  was  her  treasure  from  her  bundle  and 
never  knew  of  her  loss  till  it  was  too  late  to  go 
back  to  look  for  it,  and  there  he  lay  for  close 
on  one  hundred  and  sixty  years  till  some  English- 
man found  him  and  reported  the  find  to  verbose, 
moralising.  Bridges. 

The  author  of  Old  St  James  too  tells  a tale  of 
Spanish  treasure.  He  says  that  sometime  in  the 
eighteenth  century  two  Spaniards  visited  “Success,” 
an  estate  in  the  north  of  the  island  not  far  from  the 
sea-shore.  They  showed  a plan  said  to  have  been 
copied  from  one  held  by  a Spanish  family  locating 


30 


BRITAIN’S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 


the  position  of  valuable  documents  buried  upon  the 
estate.  There  were  the  remains  of  an  old  fort,  and 
using  the  walls  as  a starting-post  the  point  fixed 
upon  was  the  centre  of  the  estate’s  mill-house.  Not 
unnaturally,  the  visitors  wanted  to  take  down  the 
mill-house,  undertaking  to  rebuild  it  and  leave  every- 
thing as  they  found  it.  But  the  owners  objected, 
perhaps  also  not  unnaturally,  for  the  mill-house  was 
the  most  important  part  of  the  estate  and  an  owner 
who  would  live  in  any  tumble-down  makeshift  himself 
would  often  spend  large  sums  upon  his  mill-house  and 
machinery.  Permission  was  refused,  though  tradition 
was  with  the  Spaniards.  For  all  I know  those 
papers  may  be  there  still.  The  mill  was  one  of 
the  last  to  use  cattle  as  power,  and  when  excavations 
were  being  made  for  the  new  steam  mill,  two  wells 
were  found,  one  with  water  and  the  other  in  which 
water  had  obviously  not  been  found.  It  was  filled 
with  soil  of  a different  character  from  that  surrounding 
it.  ‘‘The  water,”  says  the  author,  “was  evidently 
that  which  supplied  the  fort  and  it  is  natural  to 
think  that  valuables  or  other  papers  might  have  been 
buried  in  the  other.” 

There  is  still  among  the  older  people  a certain 
faith  in  enchanted  jars  buried  in  the  earth  or  left 
in  caves  by  the  Spaniards  when  they  fled  the  country. 
In  the  Rio  Cobre  there  is  a table  of  gold  which  rises 
up  at  noon  every  day,  but  though  it  has  been  seen 
by  more  than  one  person  no  one  yet  has  succeeded 
in  getting  it  before  it  sinks  back  under  the  waters. 
This,  I am  credibly  informed — you  may  believe  it  or 
not  as  you  please — is  because  the  Spaniards  killed 
a slave  to  watch  over  the  treasure  and  no  one  has 
been  quick  enough  to  throw  their  hat,  knife,  or 
handkerchief  over  it  and  so  break  the  enchantment. 

There  was  a poor  slave  woman  once  who  was 


SPANISH  GOLD 


31 


ill  and  unable  to  finish  her  task,  so  the  driver  made 
her  stay  behind  and  do  what  she  had  left  undone. 
She  worked  all  night,  and  weary  and  worn,  the  task 
was  not  yet  done  when  her  hoe  struck  something 
that  gave  out  a jingling  sound.  She  looked  carefully 
and  found  a Spanish  jar,  and  with  such  important 
information  dared  even  approach  the  high  and  mighty 
master  himself.  On  going  to  inspect,  he  found  so 
large  a jar  it  had  to  be  pulled  out  by  oxen  and 
was  full  to  the  top  with  golden  doubloons.  So  he 
rewarded  the  woman  with  her  freedom  and  gave  her 
enough  to  live  on  all  her  life.  At  least  that  is  the 
story  that  was  told  to  me.  It  is  a comfort  to  read 
of  Spanish  Gold  which  for  so  long  has  stood  in 
my  mind  for  fanciful  treasure,  really  materialising 
to  some  one's  advantage. 

More  especially  in  the  north  of  the  island  is  this 
faith  in  hidden  treasure  strong.  I w'as  told  seriously 
by  a young  man  once  that  just  beyond  Montego  Bay 
some  very  handsome  brass  cannon  were  dug  up  and 
so  cmdously  wrought  were  they  that  they  were 
polished  and  set  up  close  to  where  they  were  found 
on  the  shore.  But  they  did  not  stay  there  long. 
One  night  a Spanish  sloop  was  seen  off  the  coast, 
next  morning  she  was  gone,  so  were  the  guns,  and 
no  one  knows  what  has  become  of  them. 

They  tell  much  the  same  story  about  a great  jar 
of  gold  which  was  supposed  to  have  been  buried  in 
a cane  piece  in  St  Thomas.  One  night  the  Spaniards 
came,  gagged  and  bound  the  watchman — I did  not 
know  every  cane  piece  had  a watchman,  but  so  the 
story  runs — and  dug  up  the  jar  leaving  a sum  of 
money  for  the  watchman  and  the  hole  so  that  the 
owners  of  that  field  might  have  some  idea  of  what 
they  had  missed. 

I am  afraid  these  two  last  stories  are  purely 


32  BRITAIN'S  FIRST  TROPICAL  COLONY 

apocryphal,  but  many  people  believe  in  them  and 
they  serve  to  show  how  fixed  in  Jamaica  is  the  faith 
in  Spanish  Gold. 

At  Kempshot,  on  top  of  a high  hill,  Miss 
Maxwell  Hall  two  or  three  years  ago  was  roused 
night  after  night  by  the  tramping  of  feet  along  the 
hillside.  At  first  the  noise  was  a mystery  of  the 
night  then  it  ceased,  but  a week  or  two  later  she 
found  that  some  great  caves  on  the  estate  had  been 
entered  and  extensive  digging  had  gone  on.  It  was 
impossible  that  anything  could  have  been  found,  for 
the  Maxwell  Halls  themselves  had  dug  out  those 
caves  thoroughly  searching  not  for  Spanish  treasure 
but  for  Arawak  remains.  It  was  evident  that  a 
large  company  had  gone  there  nightly.  The  place 
had  an  evil  reputation  and  she  knew  that  not  two 
or  three  men  would  have  lightly  dared  its  dangers 
even  for  promise  of  gold,  and  broken  and  discarded 
rum  bottles  showed  how  the  investigators  had  been 
bucked  up  with  “Dutch  courage.” 

A little  treasure  will  go  a long  way  in  making 
stories,  and  one  jar  of  coin  found  will  supply  material 
for  a dozen.  But  it  is  interesting  to  think  that  if 
you  buy  a plot  of  land  in  Jamaica,  especially  in  the 
north,  you  may  just  chance  to  buy  with  it  a jar 
of  gold. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 

In  this  year  of  Our  Lord,  1922,  there  are  still  people 
who  regard  Jamaica  as  a far,  far  distant  country,  and 
when  it  was  conquered  in  1660  it  must  have  been 
farther  from  the  British  Isles  than  any  spot  now  on 
this  earth.  Indeed,  few  people  would  know  where  it 
was  and  fewer  still  cared.  But  some  — the  wise 
ones,  the  Great  Protector  among  them,  rejoiced  over 
this  new  possession.  It  seemed  as  if  the  wild  tales 
the  seamen  told  of  adventure  on  the  Spanish  Main 
were  now  put  into  concrete  form.  Spain  had  drawn 
great  wealth  from  these  new  lands ; was  some  of  that 
great  wealth  to  come  to  the  northern  isle  ? 

But  the  beginning  was  very  difficult. 

Here  was  an  island,  a beautiful  island  truly,  but  a 
rugged  and  heavily  timbered  land,  a fertile  land,  but 
the  mountains  so  entrancing  and  so  inaccessible,  were 
full  of  dangers,  known  and  unknown.  And  the 
known  were  deadly.  The  Spaniards  still  lurked  in 
their  leafy  depths,  and  even  when  they  left  they 
encouraged  their  abandoned  slaves  to  keep  up  the 
feud,  and  no  man  could  stray  from  the  armed  shelter 
of  his  comrades  without  risking  death,  often  a painful 
and  cruel  death. 

Among  the  English  themselves  it  was  not  all 
peace,  because  they  were  unhappily  divided  into 
Roundheads  and  Cavaliers,  fanatics  and  men  of 

S3 


34 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


license  if  we  take  extremes,  and  the  two  parties 
again  and  again  were  at  each  other’s  throats. 

And  even  if  there  had  not  been  two  parties,  the 
soldier  as  a colonist  was  a dead  failure.  He  did  not 
want  to  try  and  develop  the  land  that  fell  to  his  lot. 
He  was  an  adventurer,  a fine  adventurer  often,  but 
on  the  whole  more  given  to  destruction  than  to  the 
building  up  of  a colony.  What  the  first  settlers  looked 
to  find  was  literally  gold  and  silver,  pearls,  and  precious 
stones.  They  felt  their  work  was  done  when  they 
had  conquered  the  land.  They  thought  they  had  a 
right  to  sit  down  and  reap  the  harvest  of  their  labour. 

And  of  course  there  wasn’t  any  harvest.  That 
wealth  lay  hidden  in  the  soil  they  did  not  and  could 
not  understand.  Indeed  they  did  not  want  to  under- 
stand. For  if  the  land  was  to  produce  they  must 
labour,  labour  under  a tropical  sun  and  under  con- 
ditions that  to  them  were  strange.  And  even  if 
they  did  labour  to  get  results,  there  must  be  a market 
and  as  yet  there  was  no  market.  All  they  could 
hope  for  was  to  get  enough  to  keep  themselves  alive. 
Added  to  this,  their  pay  was  in  arrears. 

No  money,  a climate  that  because  they  were 
unaccustomed  to  it  they  regarded  as  pestilential, 
and  idle  hands,  no  wonder  these  conquerors  of 
Jamaica  were  discontented,  no  wonder  they  roamed 
through  the  savannahs  slaying  ruthlessly  the  cattle 
and  horses  than  ran  wild  in  what  seemed  to  the 
newcomers  countless  numbers.  And  so  presently  it 
happened  that  the  cattle  that  had  amply  supplied 
the  buccaneers  for  many  decades  were  all  slain  and 
the  men  who  had  declined  to  plant  were  starving. 
They  did  not  want  to  settle  on  the  land.  They 
wanted  a little  more  excitement  in  their  lives.  In  the 
end,  I think,  the  average  inhabitant  of  Jamaica  had 
plenty  of  that  commodity. 


SETTLERS  AT  PORT  MORANT 


35 


To  this  boiling  pot  Cromwell  sent  out  1000  Irish 
men  and  1000  Irish  women.  I can  find  nothing  but 
the  bare  notification  that  they  arrived,  and  it  hardly 
seems  to  me  those  2000  Irish  can  have  helped 
matters  much,  whether  they  were  poor  convicts  or 
political  prisoners. 

Somebody  must  till  the  ground,  that  was  clear ; 
and  there  came  along  Luke  Stokes,  the  Governor  of 
Nevis,  intrigued  by  the  stories  of  the  new  conquest ; 
he  brought  with  him  1600  people,  men,  women, 
children,  and  slaves,  to  settle  in  the  eastern  part  of 
the  colony  round  Port  Morant  on  the  site  of  an  old 
Spanish  hato.  The  Jamaican  Government  hoped 
much  from  these  new  importations. 

Nevis  is  a tiny  mountain  island  only  fifty  square 
miles  in  extent,  and  the  people  who  came  from  there 
came  to  work  and  were  accustomed  to  the  isolation 
that  is  the  lot  of  the  pioneer.  They  settled  in  a 
part  fertile  certainly,  with  a wonderful  and  amazing 
fertility,  but  where  the  rainfall  was  very  heavy  and 
the  heat  far  greater  than  in  little  Nevis,  where  the  sea 
breeze  swept  every  corner.  There  were  mosquitoes 
too  in  the  swamps,  and  a number  of  those  settlers 
died,  men,  women,  children,  and  slaves.  Governor 
Stokes  had  hardly  built  himself  a house  when  he 
and  his  wife  died.  If  it  was  lonely  in  Nevis,  ringed 
by  the  eternal  sea,  it  was  lonelier  far  in  Port  Morant, 
Jamaica,  with  the  swamps  around  and  the  mountains, 
beautiful  but  stern  and  inaccessible,  frowning  down 
upon  them. 

We  know  very  little  about  those  first  comers,  but 
we  do  know  that  after  the  first  decimating  sickness 
that  fell  upon  them,  the  remainder  held  on  and  tried 
to  make  good. 

There  were  in  1671,  the  historian  Long  tells  us, 
sixty  settlements  in  the  Port  Morant  district. 


36 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


Probably  we  should  read  for  the  word  ‘‘  settlements  ” 
“estates,’'  either  pens  or  sugar  estates.  Now  to 
people  who  do  not  understand  conditions  in  Jamaica 
that  sounds  quite  thickly  populated.  But  Jamaica 
is  all  hills  and  valleys — rather  I should  say,  steep 
precipices  and  deep  ravines — and,  as  I cannot  say  too 
often,  especially  in  that  district  the  vegetation  is 
dense.  A mile  in  Jamaica,  it  often  seemed  to  me, 
is  farther  than  ten  in  England,  much  farther  than 
a hundred  in  Australia.  Even  now  many  pens,  many 
sugar  estates  are  cut  off  entirely  from  neighbours. 
I lived  for  three  months  a guest  of  hospitable 
Miss  Maxwell  Hall,  at  her  house  Kempshot,  on 
top  of  a steep  mountain,  from  which  we  could  see 
literally  hundreds  of  hills  melting  away  into  the  dim 
distance.  We  could  see  Montego  Bay  1800  feet 
below  us,  but  no  other  habitation  of  a white  man 
was  in  sight,  and  we  were  so  cut  off  by  the  inaccessi- 
bility of  the  country  that  though  my  hostess  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  charming  and  popular 
young  women  in  the  countr}^side,  no  one  from  the 
town  ever  made  their  way  up  that  steep  hill.  They 
were  content  that  she  who  knew  the  road  should 
come  down  and  see  them  when  she  had  the  time. 

When  we  talk  about  the  colonising  of  Jamaica, 
I think  we  ought  to  take  into  consideration  the 
isolation  that  was  of  necessity  the  lot  of  almost  every 
colonist. 

And  I think  we  may  count  these  men  from  Nevis 
the  very  first  agriculturists  who  did  make  good,  and 
find  a living  in  the  soil  of  an  island  that  is  certainly 
one  of  the  assets  of  the  Empire.  I am  lost  in 
admiration  of  these  pioneers.  They  lived  to  them- 
selves, they  were  entirely  dependent  upon  themselves. 
Were  they  sick  ? They  must  see  things  through,  die, 
or  get  well.  As  the  crow  flies,  help  might  be  near 


LOOP-HOLED  FOR  DEFENCE 


37 

enough,  but  the  steep  mountain  paths  were  cut  by 
impassable  torrents  or  blocked  by  dense  vegetation. 
Their  slaves  might  rise — probably  they  did — for  slavery 
either  for  the  white  man  or  the  black  is  not  conducive 
to  contentment,  and  they  had  to  face  it  and  bring 
them  to  a sense  of  their  wrongdoing  without  outside 
aid.  And  then  there  was  that  other  danger  from  the 
corsairs  or  pirates  who  swept  the  seas  and  made 
descents  upon  the  lonely  plantations,  looking  for 
meat,  or  rum,  sometimes  for  women,  and  always  for 
any  trifles  in  gold  or  silver  or  jewels  that  might  be 
picked  up,  and  they  were  as  ruthless  as  a Sinn  Feiner 
in  their  methods.  No  wonder  the  houses  were  built 
stern  and  strong  with  thick  walls  loop-holed  for 
defence.  They  might  reckon  on  the  slaves  to  help 
them  here,  for  the  slaves  would  not  have  much  to 
hope  for  if  they  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  pirates. 
A slave’s  lot  was  probably  hard  enough  anyway,  but 
I think  it  was  perhaps  better  to  belong  to  a settler, 
to  whom  his  services  were  of  value,  than  to  a pirate 
who  evidently  in  those  days  counted  a man’s  life 
about  on  a par  with  that  of  a beetle.  They  must 
have  been  a narrow,  capable,  self-centred  people 
those  settlers  who  came  from  Nevis  and  made  good 
at  Port  Morant. 

Cromwell  was  very  anxious  that  the  island  should 
be  peopled  and  both  he  and  Charles  II.  gave  patents 
for  land  freely,  and  though  there  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  much  competition  for  these  patents,  still 
some  men  did  come  and  were  planted  over  the 
colony. 

The  need  of  the  island,  of  course,  was  women. 
Some  of  the  old  Spanish  settlers  gave  in  their  sub- 
mission and  they  probably  had  daughters  and  young 
sisters  to  be  wooed  by  the  rough  English  soldiery. 
I don’t  know  if  any  of  those  who  took  out  patents 

D 


38 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


married  in  this  way.  Probably  they  did,  especially  in 
the  north,  but  sometimes  they  brought  their  wives 
from  the  Old  Country. 

At  Little  River  in  1670  the  lands  were  surveyed 
by  Richard  and  Mary  Rutledge,  and  other  people  took 
to  themselves  parcels  of  land  there,  varying  in  size 
from  50  to  200  acres.  It  is  a rich  country,  this  island 
that  the  Spaniards  held  so  long,  with  rivers  running 
down  from  the  wooded  mountains  and  in  the  rich 
river-bottoms  almost  any  tropical  plant  will  grow. 
The  farther  I went  to  the  north-west  the  more  fertile 
I found  the  country,  and  at  Lucea,  Lucea  with  the 
lovely  little  harbour  well  sheltered  from  storms,  they 
grow  yams,  yams  that  are  a byword  in  a land  that 
will  always  grow  yams.  All  along  the  road  by  the 
sea,  that  lovely  road,  came  creaking  great  carts  drawn 
by  oxen — yes,  even  in  these  days  of  motors,  bullock 
drays  driven  by  shouting  black  di’ivers,  piled  high 
with  Lucea  yams.  Yam,  I may  interpolate,  is  a 
valuable  foodstuff.  I want  butter  and  milk  to  it, 
but  the  natives,  the  Creole  descendants  of  the  slaves, 
eat  it  with  coconut  oil.  The  food  values  of  the  yam 
and  the  potato — the  Irish  potato,  as  they  quaintly 
call  it  in  Jamaica — are  probably  about  the  same,  but 
you  get  a great  deal  more  for  your  money  in  a yam. 
It  is  the  food  of  the  common  people,  while  the  potato 
is  a luxury.  A black  man  once  brought  me,  as  a 
Christmas  present,  a cardboard  box  neatly  tied  up 
with  pink  ribbon,  and  in  it  wrapped  up  in  white 
tissue  paper  were  four  Irish  ” potatoes ! But  even 
potatoes  will  grow  in  this  goodly  land — what  will  not 
grow  here — I believe  they  cannot  raise  primroses — 
and  yet  these  early  settlers  were  not  a success. 

“In  the  second  generation,”  says  the  author  of 
Old  St  James,  “they  had  all  died  out  or  gone,  and 
the  only  memorials  were  the  graves.” 


THE  ULTRA  ENGLISH 


39 


They  used  to  say  in  those  days,  and  indeed  long 
after,  that  unless  the  population  were  recruited  from 
the  Old  Country  every  white  would  have  gone  in 
seven  years.  We  may  take  that  statement  for  what 
it  is  worth.  The  Briton,  wanderer  as  he  is,  has  a 
fixed  idea  in  his  own  mind  that  the  only  place  where 
children  can  really  be  reared  properly  is  in  those 
islands  in  the  North  Atlantic  that  he  himself  quitted 
in  his  youth.  Even  so  late  as  when  I was  a young 
woman,  I have  heard  battles  royal  on  the  subject 
of  the  degeneration  of  Australia,  and  there  were  men 
from  England  who  held,  and  held  strongly,  that 
Australia  cut  off  from  Britain  for  ten  years  would 
degenerate  into  the  savagery  of  the  people  the  English 
had  found  there  at  the  first  settlement ! There  was 
no  stamina,  said  these  ultra  English,  in  young 
Australia,  in  young  New  Zealand ; even  the  animals 
became  degenerate.  But  behold,  over  Australia’s 
plains  range  the  largest  flocks  of  sheep  in  the  world 
with  the  very  best  wool  (at  least  it  fetches  the  highest 
prices  in  London),  and  at  Gallipoli  the  stalwart  sons 
of  Anzac  proved  once  for  all  that  they  too  were 
Britons,  worthy  sons  of  the  Empire  whose  flag  they 
were  upholding. 

And  so  it  is  with  Jamaica.  Men  can  live,  they 
can  thrive  there,  but  for  the  first  comers,  ingrained 
with  British  ideas,  it  was  very  hard  indeed. 

We  talk  about  planters,  but  I fancy  some  of  those 
first  comers  were  accustomed  to  live  very  humbly  and 
had  very  small  intellectual  attainments.  Of  course 
there  were  the  men  of  standing  and  their  wives, 
the  men  who  stood  round  the  Governor,  but  the 
men  who  took  out  the  patents  for  small  parcels  of 
land  and  lived  on  their  land  were  probably  hardly 
the  equals  of  the  Council  School  educated  labourer 
of  to-day.  The  only  difference  would  be — and  of 


40 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


course  it  is  a tremendous  difference — those  planters/ 
however  small  their  educational  attainments,  were 
accustomed  to  look  upon  themselves  as  the  salt  of  the 
earth. 

Each  and  all  had  slaves,  and  the  gulf  between  the 
slave  and  his  owner  was  so  wide  and  so  deep  that 
there  was  no  bridging  it.  It  remains  to-day  in  the 
colour  question  that  is  for  ever  cropping  up,  and 
it  made  one  class  arrogant  as  it  made  the  other 
cringingly  submissive. 

“If  an  average  planter  of  1720,”  says  Planter's 
Punchy  “and  his  wife  and  daughters  could  be  brought 
back  to  life  and  could  live  for  a day  now  as  they  lived 
in  times  long  passed,  and  if  we  could  witness  their 
manners  and  have  a glimpse  of  their  daily  customs, 
it  is  little  to  say  that  we  should  be  inexpressibly 
shocked.  . . . There  is  a planter’s  house  of  the  first 
century  of  colonisation  still  standing  in  St  Elizabeth, 
but  there  are  scarce  a dozen  in  the  colony.  It  has  a 
broad  verandah  in  front,  which  you  approach  by  a 
low  flight  of  stone  steps,  the  walls  are  from  2 to 
3 feet  thick,  there  are  shutters  for  the  windows,  you 
see  at  once  that  the  place  was  originally  built  for 
defence.  It  is  of  one  storey  only  ; there  is  no  ceiling ; 
so  that  the  heavy  rafters  are  exposed.  It  may 
contain  in  all  some  six  apartments ; it  would  not  be 
disturbed  by  a hurricane,  hardly  by  an  earthquake, 
and  it  could  have  withstood  for  sometime  an  assault 
from  slaves.  ...  It  was  in  houses  of  this  sort  that 
the  country  planter  lived  for  a hundred  years  or  more 
in  those  fabled  ‘ good  old  times  ’ of  which  we  some- 
times speak.” 

And  tliese  liouses  were  naturally  veiy  plainly 
furnished.  Tliere  were  great  mahogany  beds,  one 
probably  even  in  the  sitting-room  if  the  posts 
happened  to  bo  well  carved,  there  were  mahogany 


A PLANTER  OF  TPTE  EARLY  DAYS  41 

chairs  and  tables,  perhaps  a cupboard  or  great  box 
or  two,  all  made  on  the  estate,  for  they  all  prided 
themselves  upon  having  a carpenter.  They  had 
mattresses  and  quilts  and  of  necessity  mosquito 
curtains,  but  they  had  no  pictures — the  days  of  the 
pictorial  calendar  were  not  yet — and  never  a book, 
save  perhaps  the  Family  Bible,  wherein  to  record 
the  births  and  deaths  of  the  family.  If  the  house 
mistress  were  house  proud,  having  as  many  servants 
as  she  pleased,  she  perhaps  saw  to  it  that  her 
mahogany  floors  were  kept  in  a high  state  of  polish 
and  the  pieces  of  family  silver  brought  from  the 
Old  Country  and  set  out  on  the  country-made  side- 
board reflected  the  faces  of  its  owners,  but  otherwise 
there  was  not  much  ornament. 

The  weather  was  hot,  it  was  always  hot  to  these 
men  from  England,  and  at  first  they  wore  their 
heavy  English  clothes,  their  long  coats,  their  waist- 
coats, their  breeches  and  heavy  woollen  stockings ; 
and  their  hair  too  was  long  until  they  took  to 
wearing  wigs,  which  must  have  been  worse.  Well, 
of  course,  it  was  utterly  out  of  the  question  that 
a man  should  go  clad  like  that  in  a Jamaican  August 
even  when  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents  and 
every  leaf  held  a shower  of  water.  He  shed  his 
clothes  by  degrees,  and  went  about  his  house,  where 
he  was  only  seen  by  his  women,  often  about  his 
fields,  where  he  was  only  seen  by  his  slaves,  who 
did  not  count,  in  thread  stockings,  linen  drawers 
and  vest,  with  a large  handkerchief  tied  round  his 
head.  Out  of  doors  he  would  wear  a hat  on  top 
of  this  kerchief.  Of  course  there  were  occasions 
when  he  graced  some  state  function  with  his  presence, 
or  twice  or  thrice  in  his  life  on  some  very  important 
occasion  he  may  have  felt  impelled  to  attend  church, 
and  then  he  would  adorn  his  head  with  a wig. 


42 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


Then,  too,  he  would  blossom  out  into  a silk  coat  and 
a vest  trimmed  with  silver. 

Lesley,  speaking  of  his  arrival  in  Jamaica  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  says,  “ the  people 
seem  all  sickly,  their  complexion  is  muddy,  their 
colom’  wan  and  their  bodies  meagre,  they  look  like 
so  many  corpses  and  their  dress  resembles  a shroud.” 

It  must  be  remembered  that  yellow  fever  was 
rampant,  and  that  not  till  the  very  end  of  the 
nineteenth  centurv  was  the  cause  known.  “How- 
ever,”  he  goes  on  to  say,  “they  are  frank  and 
good-humoured  and  make  the  best  of  life  they  can. 
If  Death  is  more  busy  in  this  place  than  in  many 
others,  his  approach  is  nowhere  received  with  a greater 
unconcernedness.  They  live  well,  enjoy  their  friends, 
drink  heartily,  make  money,  and  are  quite  careless 
of  futurity.” 

I suppose  he  meant  the  Future  Life,  that  life 
beyond  the  Grave,  of  which  we  know  nothing ; but 
it  seems  to  me  it  was  the  present  that  those  past 
colonists  played  with  so  lightly.  Many  of  the 
gentlemen  were  very  fine  and  treated  their  inferiors 
— those  with  less  of  this  world’s  goods — with  a 
condescension  that  then  was  the  admiration  of  their 
historian,  but  which  nowadays  would  make  us  smile. 
One  and  all,  it  seems,  however  small  reason  they 
had  for  it,  were  very  haughty  and  insisted  upon 
being  bowed  down  to.  If  a man  wished  to  do 
business  with  them  he  might  get  much  more  favour- 
able terms  if  he  knew  how  to  “apply  to  their 
humour ; but  they  who  are  so  unhappy  as  to 
mistake  it,  may  look  for  business  in  another  place.” 

It  is  very  difficult  for  us  to  understand  the 
feelings  of  the  people  of  those  times.  Only  after 
reading  Mr  and  Mrs  Hammond’s  books  on  Labour 
in  England  between  1760  and  1830,  have  I dimly 


“YOUNG  MASTER 


43 


understood  what  the  poor  in  those  times  suffered, 
what  it  was  that  filled  the  ships  that  brought  bonds- 
men to  the  plantations  in  the  West  and  later  convicts 
to  the  colonies  of  the  unknown  South. 

Meditate  on  this  description  of  the  upbringing 
of  a boy  in  Jamaica  and  think  what  it  was  to  trust 
men’s  lives  in  such  hands. 

“A  boy  till  the  age  of  seven  or  eight  diverts 
himself  with  the  negroes,  acquires  their  broken  way 
of  talking,  their  manner  of  behaviour,  and  all  the 
vices  which  these  unthinking  creatures  can  teach. 
Then  perhaps  he  goes  to  school.  But  young  Master 
must  not  be  corrected.  If  he  learns  ’tis  well,  if  not,  it 
can’t  be  helped.  After  a little  knowledge  of  reading 
he  goes  to  the  dancing  school  and  commences  Beau, 
learns  the  common  topics  of  discourse  and  visits 
and  rakes  with  his  equals.  This  is  their  method.” 
Here  is  a little  bill  presented  at  a first-rate  tavern 
in  Kingston  in  the  year  1716  which  throws  a little 
light  on  the  way  in  which  one  of  these  beaus  dined. 
A bit,  I may  say,  seems  to  have  been  about  7^d. 

Dinner  for  one  . . . .5  Bits 

Small  beer  . . . .1  Bit 

Bottle  of  ale  . . . .4  Bits 

Quart  of  Rum  punch  . . . 4 ,, 

Coffee  . . . . . 1 „ 

Lodging  . . . . . 8 „ 

23  Bits 

The  bill  does  not  mention  how  the  gentleman 
got  to  his  bed,  but  I presume  he  was  carried  there, 
or  maybe  he  slept  undisturbed  under  the  table  for 
which  they  charged  him  ‘"lodging.” 

In  Lady  Nugent’s  time,  over  eighty  years  later, 
she  says:  “I  am  not  astonished  at  the  general  ill- 
health  of  the  men  in  this  country,  for  they  really 


44 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


eat  like  cormorants  and  drink  like  porpoises.  . . . 
Almost  every  man  of  the  party  was  drunk,  even  to  a 
boy  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  who  was  obliged  to  be  carried 
home.  His  father  was  very  angry,  but  he  had  no 
right  to  be  so  as  he  set  the  example  to  him.” 
Surely  there  must  be  something  very  good  in 
human  nature,  for  we  know  there  were  fine  men  in 
past  times.  Evidently  in  spite  of  their  upbringing. 
Life  for  the  women  was  little  better.  If  Madam 
could  read  and  write  it  was  as  much  as  she  could 
do.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  opinion  of 
society  in  the  Elizabethan  era,  undoubtedly,  until 
but  quite  a few  years  ago,  a learned  woman  was 
looked  upon  askance,  and  a gentleman — how  the 
word  is  going  out  of  use — ever  feared  that  he  might 
be  thought  to  be  in  any  way  connected  with  trade. 
Even  I can  remember  my  grandmother  saying  to 
me  that  no  gentleman  wished  to  write  a clear  hand 
lest  people  should  think  he  had  been  a clerk,  and 
as  for  a woman  very  little  reading  and  writing  was 
good  enough  for  her.  Eeading  she  regarded  as 
“waste  of  time”  for  a woman,  and  my  grandmother 
was  born  in  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  and 
died  an  old,  old  woman  in  the  last  quarter  of  the 
nineteenth.  She  prided  herself — with  justice — on 
her  courtly  manners,  and  like  one  of  Jane  Austen's 
heroines,  was  a lady  of  leisure,  never  did  I see  her 
doing  anything.  She  must  have  worked,  for  she 
was  a poor  woman  and  her  house  was  nicely  kept, 
but  it  would  have  been  derogatory  to  allow  even 
her  granddaughter  to  see  her  sweeping  or  dusting, 
or  cooking  or  washing  up  the  crockery.  I fear  the 
ladies  of  the  planters  and  their  daughters  had  less 
education  than  even  my  grandmother  would  have 
thought  necessary  and  the  courtly  manners  were 
left  out. 


RUINED  LIVES 


45 


If  young  Master  made  free  with  the  better-looking 
negro  wenches,  or,  as  time  went  on,  with  the  mulattoes 
and  quadroons,  it  made  life  exceedingly  dull  for  his 
sisters  and  his  neighbours'  sisters.  Nay,  more,  it 
absolutely  ruined  their  lives,  and  it  was  a cross  they 
must  bear  with  a smile,  pretend  indeed  that  it  was 
a thing  to  which  they  never  gave  a thought.  Yet 
these  girls  were  brought  up  to  think  that  marriage 
was  the  be-all  and  end-all  of  a woman's  life.  It 
was,  of  course.  Nowadays,  when  most  careers  are 
open  to  her,  it  is  hard  on  a girl  if  she  may  not 
have  the  hope  of  marrying,  and  she  may  marry 
any  time  between  twenty  and  forty.  But  if  she 
does  not  marry,  she  may  still  have  an  important 
place  in  the  world.  Then  if  she  did  not  marry 
young  she  was  at  once  counted  a nonentity,  she 
had  little  .chance  of  marrying  at  all,  her  life  must 
needs  be  empty  and  she  had  no  standing  in  the 
world. 

And  maturity  comes  so  quickly  in  the  tropics. 
Her  time  was  so  woefully  short.  Shorter  than  it 
was  in  the  Old  Country,  and  it  was  short  enough 
there.  ‘‘She  had  passed  her  first  bloom,"  writes 
Jane  Austen  on  one  occasion — and  she  meant  it 
always — “she  was  nearly  twenty."  If  she  had  not 
a beau  by  the  time  she  was  sixteen,  or  were  not 
married  by  eighteen  or  nineteen,  a girl  was  branded 
as  a failure,  and  I think  there  must  have  been  many 
heart-burnings  among  the  white  women  of  Jamaica 
in  these  long  ago  days.  The  twentieth  century  has 
given  women  better  fortune,  taken  away  the  bitterness 
I that  is  the  portion  of  the  woman  who,  being  as  it 
j were  on  show,  is  passed  by  as  worthless. 

But  in  the  early  days,  because  work  was  the 
portion  of  the  slave,  the  lady  must  needs  sit  with 
idle  hands.  The  long  hot  hours  were  interminable. 


46 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


She  lounged  about  in  a loose  white  garment,  bare- 
headed, barefooted,  she  did  absolutely  nothing  from 
morning  to  night.  The  slaves  brought  in  food, 
highly-spiced  food,  to  tempt  a languid  appetite,  and 
she  ate  it  on  the  floor,  because  so  it  was  considered 
more  appetising ; if  she  felt  amiable  she  asked  the 
slaves  to  share,  if  not,  a blow  or  many  stripes  was 
their  portion.  Only  when  there  was  a chance  of 
meeting  a young  man,  or  at  least  an  unmarried 
man,  did  she  give  time  and  attention  to  her  toilet 
and  lay  herself  out  to  please.  By  reason  of  her 
training  or  lack  of  it,  she  had  nothing  in  common 
with  that  man  but  thoughts  of  passion  or  pleasure. 
Of  pleasure  she  might  speak,  though  pleasure  taken 
without  work  behind  it,  shared  or  understood,  is 
very  unmeaning ; of  passion  she  was  supposed  to 
know  not  'even  the  meaning  of  the  word.  She 
must,  so  she  thought,  appear  utterly  ignorant  on 
most  subjects.  Many  and  many  a time  a girl  put 
on  her  fine  clothes,  tried  first  this  colour  and  then 
that,  curled  her  hair  and  powdered  her  face,  put 
a touch  of  rouge  here  and  a patch  there,  pinned 
down  a ribbon  or  fluffed  out  a bow  and  went  out 
with  a sigh  and  a smile  and  ogled  and  coquetted 
as  might  any  more  fortunate  dame  at  Bath  or 
Tunbridge  Wells. 

And  she  hoped — for  what  ? That  perhaps  at 
last  she  might  find  favour  in  some  young  buck’s 
eyes,  and  so  be  able  to  talk  to  her  sisters  and  her 
friends,  and  above  all  to  her  brothers,  as  if  it 
were  she  who  were  conferring  the  favour  and  this 
young  man  had  fallen  a victim  to  her  charms. 
When  he  came  awooing  in  earnest  he  likely  had, 
for  the  odds  were  heavy  against  her.  Marriage 
was  out  of  fashion.  The  young  planter  did  not 
wish  to  marry.  It  was  an  age  of  so-called 


THE  BURDEN  OF  THE  WOMAN 


47 


gallantry — of  intrigue,  and  once  the  negro  slaves 
were  introduced,  he  formed  connections  with  his 
own  women  slaves  that  gave  him  entire  satisfaction. 

How  often  I wonder  did  the  girl  take  off  the 
gown  put  on  with  such  high  hopes  with  a bitter 
sense  of  failure,  a failure  that  might  not  ever  be 
put  into  words,  and  all  the  bitterer  for  that.  And 
the  oftener  she  did  it,  and  the  fainter  her  hopes, 
the  more  dreary  would  be  her  feelings.  Her  own 
helplessness,  her  own  uselessness,  though  she  would 
not  put  it  that  way,  made  her  hard  on  the  luckless 
girl  who  waited  on  her,  made  her  curtail  her 
scanty  liberty,  beat  her,  or  starve  her  ruthlessly. 

But  there  were  not  always  white  women  in  a 
planter’s  household.  Even  now  in  Jamaica  there 
is  a proverb  that  says  rudely  that  the  two  worst 
things  on  a pen  are  a goat  and  a white  woman 
— that  is  what  made  these  girls’  chances  so  poor. 

Of  course  I am  describing  extreme  cases.  There 
were  girls  who  were  wooed  and  won,  as  there  were 
women,  I expect,  who  never  neglected  their  toilet 
even  when  they  were  alone.  But  considering  the 
climate,  it  was  not  unnatural  they  should  pass  the 
day  in  a dressing-gown  which  has  been  described 
as  a sort  of  nightgown  wrapped  round  them.  In 
all  the  world  there  are  born  slatterns,  and  I can 
easily  imagine  the  women  of  those  first  settlers 
drifting  into  very  easy-going  ways.  In  my  own 
household  we  two  women  wakened  at  dawn  and 
stood  on  the  porch  in  our  nightgowns  wondering 
what  the  new  day  would  bring.  A nightgown 
and  loose  hair  and  bare  feet  seemed  the  proper 
costume.  It  is  not  too  cool  when  the  fresh  morning 
air  plays  around  you,  it  is  quite  enough  when  the 
heat  of  the  day  is  upon  you.  Jamaica  calls  for 
some  loose  and  airy  costume. 


48 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


I have  always  been  curious  about  the  indentured 
white  servants  who  were  brought  to  the  plantations 
in  the  West  Indies  and  America  to  do  the  work 
of  artisans  and  labourers,  and  I have  been  able  to 
find  little  about  them. 

The  first  were  evidently  those  Irish  sent  out  by 
Cromwell.  And  after  that  beginning  almost  every 
ship  brought  its  quota  of  servants,  as  they  called 
them,  in  contradistinction  to  the  slaves. 

“Scarce  a ship  arrives,”  says  Lesley,  “but  has 
passengers  who  design  to  settle,  and  servants  for 
sale.  This  is  a constant  supply  and  a necessary  one,” 
meaning  that  they  considered  the  white  race  must 
die  out  unless  constantly  renewed.  Servants  in  those 
days  were  always  aplenty.  Sometimes  these  servants 
were  convicts,  sometimes  they  were  only  prisoners 
for  debt,  sometimes  they  were  political  prisoners, 
sometimes,  I am  afraid,  they  had  been  kidnapped, 
and  sometimes  like  a well-known  man.  Sir  William 
Morgan,  they  had  sold  themselves  into  slavery  to 
get  away  from  a life  in  England  grown  intolerable. 
That  any  men  should  have  done  so  throws  a sinister 
light  on  the  life  of  many  men  in  those  times,  for 
if  the  life  of  a negro  slave  was  hard — and  God 
knows  it  must  have  been — in  no  sense  can  it  have 
approached  the  hardships  of  the  lot  of  the  white 
bondservant. 

“Another  ship  brought  in  a multitude  of  half- 
starved  creatures,”  writes  Lesley  on  another  occasion, 
“ that  seemed  like  so  many  skeletons.  Misery 
appeared  in  their  looks,  and  one  might  read  the 
efiects  of  sea  tyranny  by  their  wild  and  dejected 
countenances.  ’Tis  horrid  to  relate  the  barbarities 
they  complained  of.  A word  or  a wrong  look  was 
constru’d  a design  to  Mutiny,  and  Hunger,  Handcuffs 
and  the  Cat  o’  Nine  Tails  was  immediately  the 


A GOOD  ARTISAN  FOR  £40 


49 


punishment.”  True,  he  adds,  “’tis  only  aboard  a 
few  vessels  such  cruelties  are  practised.” 

When  they  arrived,  they  were  not  landed  at  once ; 
they  must  not  leave  the  ship  for  at  least  ten  days 
after  she  had  entered  the  port.  The  master  of  the 
ship,  merchant  or  importer  of  the  white  servants,  had 
not  the  right  to  sell  any  before  that  time  had  elapsed 
under  a penalty  of  £10  for  every  one  so  sold, 
and  their  keep  was  paid  by  the  factor  or  seller. 
Why  this  was,  I do  not  know.  It  might  have  been 
to  give  the  most  distant  planters  a chance  to  buy 
or  it  may  have  been  in  the  interests  of  the  servants 
themselves,  so  that  any  man  who  had  been  unlawfully 
smuggled  aboard  might  have  time  in  which  to  have 
his  case  investigated.  Still,  we  may  pity  those  poor 
bondsmen  sweltering  in  their  cramped  quarters,  but 
I suppose  we  may  give  the  authorities  credit  for 
some  little  effort  to  do  them  justice. 

Once  they  were  landed  their  hard  lot  had  begun, 
a path  which  often  led  straight  to  the  grave. 

There  was  always  a shoal  of  buyers.  Eoystering 
Cavaliers  and  prim  Eoundheads  crowded  down  to  the 
ship  and  the  servants  passed  before  them  and  were 
examined,  men  and  women,  as  if  they  had  been  so 
many  horses  or  cattle.  It  must  have  been  a bitter 
pill  for  the  gentlemen  of  Monmouth’s  following, 
fallen  from  their  high  estate  and  passed  from  hand 
to  hand  by  these  men  whom  once  they  would  have 
regarded  as  far  below  them,  only  fit  to  sit  at  table 
with  their  servants,  and  bitterer  still  must  it  have 
been  for  the  women.  And  though  there  was  com- 
petition for  them  you  might  buy  a good  artisan  for 
£40,  an  ordinary  labourer  for  £20,  and  I am  afraid 
the  higher  rank  a man  had  held  in  England  the  lower 
would  be  his  value  in  Jamaica,  at  least  before  negro 
slaves  became  numerous. 


50 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


Every  servant  had  to  serve  according  to  contract, 
if  there  was  no  contract,  for  four  years,  but  if  he 
was  under  eighteen  he  had  to  serve  seven  years,  and 
convicted  felons,  of  course,  for  the  time  of  their 
banishment.  Fancy  buying  the  services  of  a good 
carpenter  for  £10  a year  and  his  keep ! It  must 
have  been  cheap  even  when  money  was  worth  so 
much  more. 

All  authorities  agree  that  these  bondservants  were 
cruelly  ill-used.  It  was  generally  understood  that 
while  a man  looked  after  his  black  slave,  who  was  his 
for  life,  it  was  to  his  interest  to  get  as  much  as  he 
could  out  of  his  bondservant  whose  services  were  his 
only  for  a limited  period.  Thus  it  was  that  they  were 
worked  very  hard  indeed,  so  hard  that  often  in  sheer 
self-defence  when  the  end  of  his  time  was  approaching, 
a man  would  prevail  upon  his  master  to  re-sell  him 
for  a further  term  of  years  to  some  other  man.  And 
often  the  servant  died  before  the  years  were  passed. 
I have  found  no  record  of  what  a woman  brought, 
but  I expect  that  Madam  often  commissioned  her 
husband  to  bring  her  a quiet,  middle-aged  woman,  not 
too  good  looking — though  she  probably  didn’t  put 
it  quite  in  those  words — to  tend  the  children  and 
do  the  sewing.  And  the  younger  men,  I expect, 
looked  at  the  girls  and  suggested  the  propriety  of 
a new  waiting -maid  to  their  fathers,  or  possibly, 
if  they  had  houses  of  their  own,  bought  them  them- 
selves. Oh,  I can  see  bitter  depths  of  degradation  that 
lay  in  wait  for  some  of  those  younger  bondwomen. 

One  might  think,  considering  how  valuable  was 
the  worker,  it  would  have  been  easy  to  escape  and 
work  as  a free  labourer.  But  the  authorities  had 
provided  for  that.  At  the  expiration  of  his  time 
his  master  had  to  give  the  servant  £2  and  a certificate 
of  freedom,  and  whoever  employed  any  free  person 


THE  UNFORTUNATE  BONDSMAN  51 

without  a certifix3ate  from  the  last  employer  forfeited 
£10.  Who  then  would  take  any  risk  when  for  so 
little  more  he  could  have  a servant  of  right  ? 

Each  servant  was  to  receive  yearly  three  shirts, 
three  pairs  of  drawers,  three  pairs  of  shoes,  three 
pairs  of  stockings,  and  one  hat  or  cap,  little  enough 
in  a climate  like  Jamaica  where  the  need  is  for  plenty 
of  clothes,  washed  often.  The  women  were  supplied 
proportionately.  As  a matter  of  fact  the  men  often 
had  no  shoes,  and  were  dressed,  says  Lesley,  in  a 
speckled  shirt,  a coarse  Osnaburg  frock  (Osnaburg 
seems  to  have  been  a coarse  sort  of  linen,  something, 
I take  it,  like  the  dowlas  of  which  we  make  kitchen 
towels),  buttoned  at  the  neck  and  wrists,  and  long 
trousers  of  the  same,  and  they  had  bare  feet  unless 
they  could  contrive  sandals.  The  women  wore 
generally  a striped  Holland  gown  with  a plain  cloth 
wrapped  about  their  heads,  such  as  every  negro  maid 
wears  nowadays. 

There  were  regulations  for  their  feeding  too.  By 
these,  each  servant  was  to  have  4 lbs.  of  good  flesh 
or  good  fish  weekly,  and  such  convenient  plantation 
provisions  as  might  be  sufficient.  Most  plantations 
had  a mountain’'  attached  where  the  slaves  grew 
their  provisions,  the  cattle  were  turned  out  to  recruit, 
and  hogs  were  raised,  and  in  a country  like  Jamaica 
there  should  have  been  no  difficulty  in  supplying 
plenty  of  meat.  But  practically,  I am  afraid,  it  was 
not  often  supplied,  and  the  4 lbs.  of  good  flesh  became 
Irish  salt  beef,  which  was  admittedly  very  coarse, 
and  as  it  had  often  been  months  on  the  way,  was 
probably  a great  deal  nastier  than  it  sounds. 

The  poor  bondsman  found  himself  hemmed  in  by 
all  manner  of  regulations.  No  one  could  trade  with 
a servant — or  slave  for  that  matter — without  the 
consent  of  the  master  on  penalty  of  forfeiting  treble 


62 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


the  value  of  the  thing  traded  and  £10  in  addition. 
Human  natm’e  was  frail,  and  if  a freeman  got  a 
woman  servant  with  child  he  had  to  pay  £20  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  woman  and  child  or  serve  the 
master  double  the  time  the  woman  was  to  serve. 
If  he  married  her  though,  lucky  woman,  after  he  had 
paid  that  £20  she  was  free  ; if  they  married  without 
the  master  s consent  the  man  had  to  serve  two  years. 

True,  he  had  some  privileges  this  luckless  bond- 
servant.  He  could  not  be  whipped  on  the  naked  back 
without  the  order  of  a justice  of  the  peace  under 
a penalty  of  £5  ; less,  you  see,  than  a man  had  to  pay 
for  trading  with  him  without  the  consent  of  his 
master.  And  sometimes,  of  com^se,  he  was  a favourite  ; 
Lesley  says  he  has  known  servants  to  dine  “ on  the 
same  victuals  as  their  master,  wear  as  good  clothes, 
be  allowed  a horse  and  a negro  boy  to  attend  them.” 
But  to  me  this  only  emphasises  how  much  the 
unfortunate  servant  was  dependent  for  his  comfort, 
his  happiness,  his  success  in  life,  not  upon  his  worth 
but  upon  the  caprice  of  the  fine  gentleman  who  was 
his  master.  If  he  were  “ stupid  or  roguish  ” he  was 
hardly  used,  often  put  in  the  stocks  and  beaten 
severely,  and  he  got  nothing  to  eat  but  the  salt 
provisions  and  the  ground  food  the  law  insisted  he 
should  have,  and  at  the  end  of  his  four  years  naturally, 
if  his  master  would  not  give  him  a character,  nobody 
could  be  found  to  employ  him.  His  lot  was  worse 
than  that  of  the  black  slave,  whom  custom  and  public 
opinion  decreed  should  not  be  cast  off  in  his  old  age 
whatever  his  record. 

How  low  was  the  status  of  a bond-servant  is  told 
by  a chance  remark  of  Lesley’s,  who  says  that  Sir 
Henry  Morgan  was  at  first  only  a servant  to  a 
planter  in  Barbadoes,  and  “ though  that  state  of  life 
be  the  meanest  and  most  disgraceful,  yet  he  caused 


THE  PRIDE  OF  SIR  HENRY  MORGAN 


53 


to  be  painted  round  his  portrait  a chain  and  pot- 
hooks, that  marked  the  punishment  to  which  he  was 
like  to  be  subjected  in  those  days.” 

That  little  story  made  me  change  my  opinion 
of  Sir  Henry  Morgan.  He  climbed  by  piracy,  and 
then  he  put  down  piracy  with  a high  hand,  hanging 
the  less  fortunate  of  his  fellows.  But  since  he  was 
not  too  proud  to  be  reminded  of  the  lowly  position 
from  which  he  had  sprung,  there  must  have  been 
reason  in  what  he  did. 

The  colony  desired  bond  - servants  or,  more 
probably,  white  inhabitants.  Any  shipmaster  import- 
ing fifty  white  servants  was  freed  from  port  charges 
on  the  ship  for  that  voyage,  but  they  had,  observe, 
to  be  male  servants.  They  didn’t  think  much  of 
women  in  the  days  of  gallantry. 

And  others  were  welcome  besides  servants. 
“All  tradesmen  and  others  not  able  to  pay  their 
passages,  except  Jews,  cripples,  and  children  under 
eleven  years  of  age,  willing  to  transport  themselves 
to  this  island  shall  be  received  on  board  any  ship, 
and  were  free  from  any  servitude.”  The  master 
received  for  anyone  coming  from  England,  £7,  10s. ; 
from  Ireland,  £6 ; from  New  England,  Carolina,  and 
other  parts  of  America,  £3,  10s. ; from  Providence 
and  the  Windward  Isles,  £2.  These  sums  were 
evidently  paid  to  the  shipowner  through  the  master, 
for  Lesley  goes  on  to  say  that,  for  every  person 
brought  from  Europe,  the  master  “should  have  for 
his  encouragement  and  to  his  own  use  the  further 
sum  of  £1  per  head,  while  those  brought  from 
America  brought  the  master  in  10s.  ahead  apiece.” 
And  evidently  these  willing  emigrants  were  set  to 
work  at  once,  for  all  rogues  and  vagabonds  and 
idle  persons  refusing  to  work  were  to  be  whipped 
on  the  naked  back  with  thirty-nine  lashes,  when 

E 


54 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


presumably  they  took  their  place  among  the  bond- 
servants. 

It  wasn’t  very  easy  to  get  out  of  this  country  that 
was  so  lavish  with  its  invitations  to  come  and  settle. 
Every  shipmaster  had  to  give  security  of  £1000  not 
to  carry  off  any  person  without  leave  of  the  Governor, 
and  anyone  wishing  to  get  leave  had  his  name  set 
up  for  twenty-one  days,  and  had  to  bring  a witness 
who  had  known  him  or  her  for  at  least  a year.  It 
was  even  difficult  to  hide,  for  if  a servant  or  hired 
laboiu’er  hid  another  man’s  servant  or  slave,  he 
forfeited  one  year’s  service  to  the  master  or  had 
thirty-nine  lashes  on  the  bare  back. 

And  that  is  all  I can  find  about  these  unwilling 
immigrants.  Not  one  person  that  ever  I heard  of 
owns  to  having  descended  from  them,  and  what  is 
more  extraordinaiy  still,  tradition  does  not  point  at 
any  man  as  having  among  his  forebears  one  who 
so  arrived  in  the  colony.  All  trace  of  them  is  lost. 
Naturally,  perhaps.  No  one  owns  to  a convict 
grandfather  or  great  grandfather,  even  if  the  con- 
viction were  only  for  knocking  down  a rabbit. 

Still,  in  after  years,  no  one  would  have  been 
ashamed  at  having  a follower  of  Monmouth  for  an 
ancestor.  But  I have  heard  of  none  such.  If  these 
bond-servants  died  they  were  forgotten,  and  if  they 
made  good,  as  some  must  have  done,  they  were 
absorbed  into  the  population. 

As  the  black  slaves  became  commoner  the  value 
of  the  white  bondsmen  was  enhanced,  for  the  slaves 
were  always  a menace,  and  there  was  a law  by  which 
every  owner  of  slaves  had  to  keep  one  white  man, 
servant,  overseer,  or  hired  man,  for  the  first  five 
working  slaves ; for  ten  slaves,  two  whites,  and  two 
whites  for  every  ten  more,  and  these  had  to  be 
resident  on  the  plantation,  so  that  these  bondsmen 


THE  STANDING  OF  THE  BONDSMAN  55 

became  either  overseers  or  book-keepers,  if  they  had 
not  skill  enough  to  be  blacksmiths  or  carpenters. 
And  then,  I think,  it  was  that  the  bondsman  had 
his  chance. 

Book-keepers  or  artisans  were  not  supposed, 
even  when  they  were  free  men,  to  speak  to  the 
planter’s  daughter.  Their  social  standing  was  by 
no  means  good  enough,  and  it  was  a time  when  class 
differences  were  very  marked. 

But  youth  is  youth,  and  if  the  girl  had  no  hope 
of  a lover  among  her  own  class,  and  indeed  even  if 
she  had,  I expect  the  good  looking  young  bondsman 
was  often  encouraged  by  an  arch  look  or  a melting 
glance  to  a closer  acquaintance.  It  ended — well  in 
one  way.  She  ran  away  with  him,  or  possibly  there 
was  nowhere  to  run  to,  and  a man  cannot  go  far 
without  money,  so — the  tropical  nights  are  made  for 
love-making.  Presently,  if  the  father  and  the  mother 
were  not  wise,  there  was  a scandal  and  some  poor 
servant  had  ill-merited  stripes. 

But  sometimes,  I think,  the  planter  was  wise. 
Quite  likely  the  bondsman,  especially  if  he  had  been 
a political  prisoner,  was  far  better  educated  and 
better  mannered  than  the  girl  running  wild  on  the 
estate.  Some  provision  would  be  made  for  the 
young  couple,  the  lad  would  get  his  freedom,  and 
in  some  house  a little  more  sequestered  in  the  hills, 
they  would  start  housekeeping  with  a cane  patch  and 
black  servants  of  their  own. 

This  is  entirely  my  own  idea.  I can  find  no 
record  whatever  of  such  a marriage.  All  trace  of 
the  bond-servants  has  vanished  as  completely  as 
though  they  had  never  been,  but  this  is  the  way  I 
interpret  Lesley’s  remark,  ‘‘At  last  for  the  most  part 
run  away  with  the  most  insignificant  of  their  humble 
servants ! ” 


56 


THE  WHITE  BONDSMEN 


But  that  lucky  man  was  only  one  out  of  hundreds. 

Many  and  many  an  unhappy  being,  I am  afraid, 
crawled  away  from  a servitude  grown  too  hard,  and 
died  beneath  the  tangle  of  palms  and  tropical  greenery 
among  the  mountains  of  Jamaica. 

For  they  died  prematurely — we  know  they  died. 
Even  the  ruling  class  died  like  flies  often  before  they 
had  reached  their  prime,  and  each  and  all  set  down 
the  abnormal  death  rate  to  the  pestilential  climate. 
Really  Jamaica  has  a beautiful  climate,  but  they  did 
not  understand  in  those  days  the  danger  of  the 
mosquito,  and  they  thought  the  night  air  was  deadly. 
All  classes  drank,  the  masters  ‘"Madera”  and  rum, 
and  the  servants  rum  that  was  doubtless  not  of  the 
best.  It  is  easy  to  sneer,  but  human  nature  needs 
some  relaxation,  and  living  on  beef  that  was  like 
brine,  sleeping  all  night  in  a room  from  which  the 
night  air  was  carefully  excluded,  the  gorgeous  divine 
night  of  Jamaica,  and  overworked  in  the  burning  sun, 
we  can  hardly  blame  these  bondsmen  for  drinking. 
They  watered  the  cane  pieces  with  their  sweat  and 
blood,  and  they  died — died — died  ! They  were  not 
even  pioneers.  They  were  simply  bond-servants  on 
whom  no  one  wasted  pity. 

It  seems  to  me  that  pity,  that  true  pity  which  is 
not  half-sister  to  contempt,  but  has  eyes  for  suffering 
humanity,  and  the  will  to  better  things  was  hardly 
born  among  the  majority  till  after  the  Great  War. 
Now  at  last  is  the  worker  coming  into  his  own,  and 
if  he  wax  fat  and  kick  like  the  gentleman  in  Holy 
Writ,  I think  we  must  forgive  him,  for  long  has  he 
served. 


CHAPTER  III 


Jamaica’s  first  historian 

It  is  fascinating  to  read  up  the  old  books  that  have 
been  written  about  Jamaica.  Wearisome  sometimes 
naturally,  because  for  one  illuminating  remark  you 
must  wade  through  a mass  of  turgid  stuff. 

I confess  even  to  having  skipped  occasionally 
Hans  Sloane,  and  I read  Hans  Sloane — in  the  original 
edition  with  the  long  s’s  ” — sitting  on  the  verandah 
of  my  house  looking  over  the  Caribbean  Sea,  and 
when  I had  finished  I felt  I had  known  him,  so 
charming  is  he.  I was  sorry  I could  not  write  and 
thank  him  for  his  book.  It  is  a very  strange  thing 
how  personality  creeps  out  in  writing.  No  one 
surely  ever  talked  less  of  himself  than  Hans  Sloane, 
but  we  somehow  get  a picture  of  a kindly,  interesting 
man,  patient  and  tactful,  whom  it  must  have  been  a 
privilege  to  know,  and  he  manages  to  give  us  a very 
clear  picture  of  life  in  Jamaica  little  more  than  thirty 
years  after  the  first  landing  of  the  English.  He  was 
Physician  to  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  and  lived  in 
Jamaica  for  a year,  1687-88,  and  he  looked  at  the 
country  he  had  come  to  with  seeing  eyes,  and 
described  thoughtfully  what  he  saw. 

‘‘The  Swine  come  home  every  night  in  several 
hundreds  from  feeding  on  the  wild  Fruit  in  the 
neighbouring  Woods,  on  the  third  sound  of  a Conch 
Shell,  when  they  are  fed  with  some  few  ears  of  Indian 


58 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


corn  thrown  in  amongst  them,  and  let  out  the  next 
morning  not  to  return  till  night,  or  that  they  heard 
the  sound  of  the  Shell.  These  sort  of  remote  Planta- 
tions are  very  profitable  to  their  Masters,  not  only  in 
feeding  their  own  Families,  but  in  affording  them 
many  Swine  to  sell  for  the  Market.  It  was  not  a 
small  Diversion  to  me,  to  see  the  Swine  in  the 
Woods,  on  the  first  sound  of  the  Shell,  which  is 
like  that  of  a Trumpet,  to  lift  up  their  Heads  from 
the  ground  where  they  were  feeding  and  prick  up 
their  Ears  to  hearken  for  the  second  which  so  soon 
as  ever  they  heard,  they  would  begin  to  make  some 
movements  homewards,  but  on  the  third  Sound  they 
would  run  with  all  their  Speed  to  the  Place  where 
the  Overseer  us’d  to  throw  them  Corn.  They  are 
called  home  so  every  night,  and  also  when  such  of 
them  as  are  fit  for  Market  are  wanted ; and  seem  to 
be  as  much,  if  not  more,  under  Command  and 
Discipline,  than  any  Troops  I ever  saw. 

‘‘A  Palenque  is  here  a place  for  bringing  up  of 
Poultry,  as  Turkeys,  which  here  much  exceed  the 
European  and  are  very  good  and  well  tasted.  Hens, 
Ducks,  Muscovy  Ducks  and  some  very  few  Geese.  . . . 
These  Poultry  are  all  fed  on  Indian,  or  Guinea  Corn 
and  Ants  nests  brought  from  the  Woods  which 
these  Fowls  pick  up  and  destroy  mightily.” 

This  was  written  of  1687,  but  it  is  true  now  in 
this  twentieth  century.  I have  seen  oranges  and 
naseberries  lying  rotting  under  the  trees  in  heaps 
and  I know  there  is  much  waste  land  in  Jamaica 
where  it  should  be  well  worth  someone’s  while  to 
raise  hogs  and  chickens  and  turkeys.  Just  behind 
where  I am  sitting  writing,  a bare  two  miles  from 
the  town  of  Montego  Bay,  there  is  a swamp  which 
at  present  breeds  nothing  but  large  and  fierce 
moscpiitoes,  but  where  hogs  might  live  to  their 


THE  WEALTH  OF  THE  LAND 


59 


advantage  and  the  swamp’s,  and  in  these  days  of 
cold  storage  and  world  shortage  I wonder  why  that 
swamp  is  not  turned  to  good  account.  As  for  fowls 
and  turkeys  and  ducks,  they  grow  fat  and  heavy, 
they  lay  wonderfully,  and  if  anyone  gave  a little 
attention  to  the  poultry  industry  they  should  coin 
money.  Guinea-fowl  will  feed  themselves,  and  so 
will  the  pea-fowl,  the  bird  that  used  to  be  considered 
— rightly  — a dish  for  a royal  banquet.  And 
nowadays,  instead  of  being  taken  to  market  on  mule- 
back  or  on  the  heads  of  slaves,  they  would  quite 
well  pay  for  motor  cartage. 

I am  sorry  to  say  it  seems  to  me  this  industry 
has  rather  retrograded  since  Sloane’s  day. 

“The  Cattle,”  he  says,  “are  penn’d  every  night 
or  else  they  in  a short  time  run  wild.  These  Pens 
are  made  of  Palisadoes  and  are  look’d  after  very 
carefully  by  the  Planters.  The  Oxen  who  have 
been  drawing  in  their  Mills  and  are  well  fed  on 
Sugar  Cane  tops  are  reckoned  the  best  meat,  if  not 
too  much  wrought.  They  are  likewise  fatted  by 
Scotch  Grass.” 

They  did  escape  many  a time  from  these  “ Pali- 
sadoes” and  so  the  woods  of  Jamaica  proved  very 
attractive  hunting-grounds  for  the  buccaneers.  It 
is  evident  that  pork  and  beef  might  be  got  here 
quite  as  easily  as  in  the  days  of  the  Spaniards,  and 
perhaps  it  was  in  return  for  this  unwilling  hospitality 
that  these  gentlemen  brought  much  of  their  plunder 
to  Port  Royal,  for  Jamaica,  in  those  first  years,  even 
before  Sir  Hans  Sloane  wandered  about  it,  made 
money  out  of  the  corsairs.  They  were  a difficult 
problem.  Other  days,  other  manners.  They  ravaged 
the  coasts  yet  they  brought  wealth  to  the  capital, 
and  while  some  of  them  got  themselves  hanged  for 
the  blackguards  they  undoubtedly  were.  Sir  Henry 


60 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


Morgan,  the  successful  English  leader  of  the  lot, 
was  at  one  time  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  island. 

It  was  no  wonder  Jamaica  attracted  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  adventurers,  for  the  climate,  if  one 
remembers  it  lies  within  the  tropics,  is  lovely.  It 
is  hot  in  the  middle  of  the  day  and  the  sun  has 
naturally  great  power,  but  there  is  from  ten  in  the 
morning  till  four  in  the  afternoon  a cooling  breeze 
off  the  sea,  and  at  night  it  is  reversed,  the  cool 
breeze  comes  from  the  land.  Hans  Sloane  notices 
this,  he  also  mentions  what  of  course  is  of  no 
consequence  in  these  days  of  steamers,  that  no  ship 
can  come  into  harbour  save  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  and  none  can  go  out  save  in  the  early  morning 
or  at  night.  He  kept  a record  of  the  weather  all 
the  time  he  was  in  the  island,  and  that  record  for 
1687-88  might  have  done  almost  word  for  word  for 
1919-20,  so  little  does  the  climate  vary.  His 
memorandum  for  the  25th  October  1688  might  have 
stood  for  the  25th  October  1920,  when  I read  it, 
‘‘Fair  weather  with  a small  sea  breeze.”  And  when 
the  sea  breeze  has  failed  he  has  a note  which  I 
feelingly  record  is  perfectly  true,  “Extream  hot.” 
Luckily  the  sea  breeze  seldom  fails,  and  I suppose 
there  is  no  place  in  the  world  where  the  climate 
suits  everyone  always.  Sloane  remarks  that  most 
people  considered  the  land  breeze  at  night  unwhole- 
some, “which,”  he  says,  with  a wisdom  beyond  his 
time,  “I  do  not  believe,”  and  even  to-day  I have 
met  people  who  warned  me  gravely  against  the 
danger  of  sleeping  outside.  “The  damp  night  wind 
is  so  dangerous ! ” and  like  Sloane  I did  not  believe 
and  I went  on  sleeping  in  the  open  and  daily  growing 
better  and  better. 

As  a physician,  he  had  a great  deal  to  say  about 
the  health  of  the  people  of  the  new  Colony.  Indeed, 


CONDUCT  AND  CLIMATE 


61 


reading  him  has  made  me  understand  how  slowly 
and  imperceptibly  we  throw  off  the  old  and  take 
up  the  new.  He  dilates  on  the  immorality  of  the 
people.  Not  that  he  worried  about  their  souls  as 
did  later  writers ; he  takes  things  as  he  finds  them 
and  does  not  expect  men  to  be  impossible — and 
dull — angels,  but  he  writes  wisely  on  the  effect  such 
conduct  must  have  on  the  individual. 

‘‘The  Passions  of  the  Mind  have  very  great 
power  on  Mankind  here,  especially  Hysterical  Women 
and  Hypochondriacal  Men.  These  cannot  but  have 
a great  share  in  the  cause  of  several  Diseases,  some 
of  the  People  living  here  being  in  such  Circumstances, 
as  not  to  be  able  to  live  easily  elsewhere  : add  to 
this  that  there  are  not  wanting  some,  as  everywhere 
else,  who  have  been  of  bad  Lives,  whereby  their 
minds  are  disturbed,  and  their  Diseases,  if  not 
rendered  Mortal,  yet  much  worse  to  cure  than  those 
who  have  sedate  Minds,  and  Clear  Consciences.  On 
the  same  account  it  is  that  those  who  have  not  their 
Wills,  Minds,  and  Affairs  settled,  in  Distempers  are 
much  worse  to  be  cur’d  than  other  Men.”  And  he 
goes  on  to  say  that  he  considers  many  of  the  ailments 
of  the  people  may  be  set  down  to  “Debauchery” 
and  their  love  of  drinking.  The  Europeans,  he  says, 
are  foolish  to  dress  in  the  tropics  as  they  would  at 
home,  and  he  tells  how,  going  for  a ride  in  the  early 
morning,  his  periwig  and  “Cloths”  were  wet  with 
dew. 

This  shrewd  observer  prescribes  the  most  drastic 
remedies. 

One  good  lady,  who  was  going  blind,  he  ordered 
to  take  “Millepedes  alive,  to  one  hundred  in  a 
morning,  rising  to  that  number  by  degrees,  on  the 
days  when  she  took  nothing  else.  By  these  means 
persisted  in  she  first  felt  some  relief,  by  degrees 


62  JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 

recovered  the  sight  of  one  Eye  and  then  of  the 
other,  so  tliat  she  could  at  last  read  Bibles  of  the 
smallest  print,  and  was  entirely  cured.”  I am  glad 
of  that,  for  she  had  been  bled  by  cupping,  by  scarifica- 
tion in  the  shoulders,  blistered  in  the  neck,  and  had 
had  various  other  extremely  disagreeable  things  done 
to  her.  But  I hardly  give  the  '‘Millepedes”  credit, 
perhaps  it  was  the  abstinence  from  the  many  good 
things  that  came  her  way. 

He  certainly  makes  diverting  reading  on  the 
people  who  came  to  him  with  various  ailments, 
though  I doubt  whether  his  patients  found  anything 
particularly  amusing  in  his  treatment  of  them.  He 
carefully  sorts  them  all  out  according  to  their  rank, 
for  people  were  much  more  punctilious  then  than 
now.  He  mentions  "Loveney,  a negro  woman  of 
Colonel  Ballard’s,”  "one  Barret,”  "a  lusty  woman,” 
" one  Cornwall’s  daughter,”  "a  Gentleman  aged  about 
40  years,”  "a  young  Gentlewoman  aged  about  twelve 
years.”  And  he  is  extremely  frank  as  to  their 
ailments  and  their  causes.  Of  a "Gentlewoman 
aged  about  fifty  years,”  he  writes,  "I  attribute  this 
disease  to  Wine  Punch  and  Vinous  Liquors,  but  she 
would  not  abstain,  alledging  that  her  Stomach  was 
cold  and  needed  something  to  warm  it.”  We  some- 
times hear  that  statement  in  these  days ! 

Again  he  tells  us  of  a gentleman  who  in  drinking 
"Madera  Wine  and  Water,  he  made  use  of  it  too 
often,  whereby  he  became  usually,  the  more  he  drank, 
the  more  dry,  so  that  after  a small  time  he  was 
necessitated  to  drink  again.”  I think  we  also  meet 
cases  like  that  not  infrequently.  Sloane  himself 
considers  that  water  is  the  best  drink,  though  he 
did  not  always  practise  what  he  preached,  but  his 
really  lightning  cure  was  that  of  that  "lusty  negro 
Footman  Emanuel.  Emanuel  was  ordered  over-night 


“POOR  EMMANUEL” 


63 


to  get  himself  ready  against  next  morning  to  be  a 
guide  on  foot  for  about  an  hundred  miles  through  the 
Woods  to  a place  of  the  island  to  seize  Pirates  who, 
as  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  was  informed,  had  there 
unladed  great  quantities  of  Silver  to  Careen  their 
Ship.”  Now  Emanuel  had  evidently  heard  all  about 
the  pirates,  and  did  not  desire  a closer  acquaintance, 
and  I have  the  sincerest  sympathy  with  Emanuel. 

About  twelve  a’Clock  in  the  night  he  pretended 
himself  to  be  extraordinary  sick,  he  lay  straight 
along,  would  not  speak,  and  dissembled  himself  in 
great  Agony  by  groaning,  etc.”  But,  alas,  he  had  the 
cleverest  doctor  in  the  island  to  deal  with.  “His 
pulse  beat  well,  neither  had  he  any  foaming  at  the 
mouth  or  difficulty  in  breathing.  The  Europeans 
who  stood  by  thought  him  dead.  Blacks  thought  him 
bewitched,  and  others  were  of  opinion  that  he  was 
poyson’d.  I examined  matters  as  nicely  as  I could, 
concluded  that  this  was  a new  strange  Disease  such 
as  I had  never  seen,  or  was  not  mention’d  by  any 
Authority  I had  read,  or  that  he  counterfeited  it.” 

Poor  Emanuel ! 

“ Being  confirmed  that  it  was  this  latter,  and  that 
he  could  speak  very  well  if  he  pleas’d,  to  frighten 
him  out  of  it,  I told  the  Standers  by,  that  in  such  a 
desperate  condition  as  this,  ’twas  usual  to  apply  a 
Frying  pan  with  burning  Coals  to  the  Head,  in  order 
to  awake  them  thoroughly,  and  to  draw  from  the 
Head,  and  that  it  was  likewise  an  ordinary  method 
to  put  Candles  lighted  to  their  Hands  and  Feet, 
that  when  the  flame  came  to  burn  them  they  might 
be  awaked.  I sent  two  several  People  in  all  haste  to 
get  ready  these  things,  in  the  meantime  leaving  him, 
that  he  might  have  time  to  consider  and  recover  out 
of  this  fit  of  Dissumlation,  which  in  a quarter  of  an 
hour  he  did,  so  that  he  came  to  speak.  I question’d 


64 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


him  about  his  pain,  he  told  me  it  was  very  great  in 
his  Back.  I told  him  in  short  that  he  was  a dis- 
sembler, bid  him  go  and  do  his  business  without  any 
more  ado,  or  else  he  should  have  due  Correction, 
which  was  the  best  Remedy  I knew  for  him,  he 
went  about  his  Errand  immediately  and  perform’d 
it  well,  though  he  came  too  late  for  the  Pirats.” 
I expect  Emanuel  knew  a thing  or  two,  and  since 
the  leading  of  the  expedition  was  in  his  hands,  very 
naturally  saw  to  it  that  they  did  not  come  upon  them 
too  soon. 

Sloane  was  not  content  to  stay  in  Port  Royal  or 
at  Spanish  Town,  which  was  the  seat  of  the  Govern- 
ment, but  wandered  about  the  island.  At  St  Ann’s, 
on  Captain  Hemmings’  plantation,  he  found  the  ruins 
of  Sevilla,  the  town  the  Spaniards  built  as  their  first 
capital.  Whether  he  looked  at  those  ruins  with  the 
eyes  of  a romance  writer,  I do  not  know.  Certainly 
he  seems  to  have  found  them  much  more  magnificent 
than  any  other  Spanish  remains  found  warrant  us  in 
thinking  them.  He  found  a fort,  a monastery,  sugar 
works,  and  Captain  Hemmings  told  him  he  often 
found  pavements  3 feet  deep  under  big  canes.  There 
were  the  ruins  of  several  buildings  not  yet  finished, 
and  tradition  said  that  the  Europeans  had  been  cut 
off  by  the  Indians.  The  town  had  been  overgrown 
for  a long  time,  and  he  says  most  of  the  timber  felled 
off  this  place,  within  the  walls  of  the  tower,  was  60  feet 
long.  The  West  Gate  of  the  Church  was  very  fine 
Work  and  stands  very  entire,  it  was  seven  Foot  wide, 
and  as  high  before  the  Arch  began.  Over  the  door 
in  the  middle  was  our  Saviour’s  head  with  a Crown 
of  Thorns,  between  two  Angels,  on  the  right  side  a 
small  round  figure  of  some  Saint  with  a Knife  stuck 
into  his  Head,  on  the  left  a Virgin  Mary  or  Madonna, 
her  Arm  tied  in  three  places  Spanish  Fashion.” 


CATTLE  IN  THE  WOODS 


65 


That  pathetic,  uncompleted  old  church  at  Sevilla, 
with  the  arched  stones  that  lay  about  among  the 
canes  but  had  never  been  put  up,  tells  a story  of 
terror  of  the  old  days.  But  the  English  soldiery, 
contemptuous  of  all  things  Spanish,  swept  everything 
away,  and  I do  not  suppose  that  one  of  those  stones 
he  saw  in  Captain  Hemmings’  fields  yet  remains. 
All  went  long  years  ago. 

Colonel  Ballard  told  him  that  when  the  Spaniards 
left  the  island  they  abandoned  not  only  their  slaves 
but  their  dogs,  great  beasts  as  big  as  Irish  grey- 
hounds. These  went  wild  and  hunted  of  themselves 
the  cattle  that  were  in  the  savannahs  and  woods. 
Apparently  these  capable  dogs  had  been  used  by 
their  masters  to  hunt  the  Indians,  for  there  was 
always  a certain  share  of  the  booty  on  these  occasions 
due  to  the  master  of  the  dogs.  There  were  wild  horses 
too  in  the  woods,  and  the  English  settlers  took  the  best 
and  destroyed  them,  using  them  ruthlessly  in  the  mills. 
Man  has  ever  been  cruel  to  the  luckless  beasts  that 
fell  into  his  hands.  And  Sloane  remarks  how  smooth 
were  the  skins  of  these  horses  in  comparison  with 
the  rough  coated  little  horses  introduced  by  the 
conquerors  from  New  England.  There  were  cattle 
too  and  the  settlers  as  well  as  the  buccaneers  hunted 
these,  killing  them  apparently  rather  wantonly,  but 
probably  there  was  not  much  else  for  the  soldiers 
to  feed  on.  “This  way  of  taking  the  wild  black 
Cattle,”  says  Sloane,  “cutting  their  tendons  or 
Lancing  is  what  is  used  by  the  Spaniards  in  their 
islands  and  Continents,  and  by  Privateers  and 
Bucaniers ; but  in  Jamaica  there  remain  very  few 
wild  Cattle  to  be  taken  and  those  are  in  the 
Northside  of  the  Island  in  the  less  frequented  parts. 
The  manner  in  which  the  Spaniards  and  English 
killed  these  Cattle,  besides  the  wild  Dogs  who  used 


66 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


of  themselves  to  bunt  and  kill  them,  was  with  a 
Lance  or  Halberd,  on  the  end  of  which  w^as  an  Iron 
sharpened  and  made  in  the  shape  of  a Crescent  or 
Half  Moon.  These  wild  Cattle  are  said  much  to 
exceed  the  others  in  taste.’' 

He  tells  too  of  the  slaves,  for  negro  slaves  they 
had  in  those  days  as  well  as  Indians  and  indentured 
white  servants.  “ The  Indians  are  not  the  natives  of 
the  island,  they  being  destroyed  by  the  Spaniards, 
but  are  usually  brought  by  surprise  from  the 
Mosquitoes  or  Florida  ” (what  blackguards  were 
these  old  colonists)  “ or  such  as  were  slaves  to  the 
Spaniards  and  taken  from  them  by  the  English.  . . . 
They  are  of  an  olive  colour,  have  long  black  lank 
hair,  and  are  very  good  Hunters,  Fishers,  or  Fowlers, 
but  are  naught  at  working  in  the  Fields  or  Slavish 
Work,  and  if  checkt  or  drub’d  are  good  for  nothing, 
therefore  are  very  gently  treated  and  well  fed.”  . . . 
‘‘Of  the  Negros  . . . those  who  are  Creolians,  born 
in  the  island,  or  taken  from  the  Spaniards,  are 
reckoned  worth  more  than  the  others  in  that  they 
are  seasoned  to  the  Island.” 

Seasoned  to  the  Island,  indeed ! He  means 
their  troubles  there  were  the  devil,  they  knew. 
And  then  he  goes  on  to  show  us  what  these  troubles 
might  be.  “The  punishments  for  Crimes  of  Slaves 
are  usually  for  rebellion  by  burning  them,  by  nailing 
them  down  to  the  ground  with  crooked  Sticks  on 
every  Limb  and  then  applying  the  Fire  by  degrees 
from  the  Feet  and  Hands,  burning  them  gradually 
up  to  the  head  whereby  their  Pains  are  extravagant. 
For  Crimes  of  a lesser  nature.  Gelding,  or  chopping 
off  Half  the  Foot  with  an  Ax.  Their  Punishments 
are  suffered  by  them  with  great  Constancy. 

“For  running  away  they  put  Iron  Kings  of  great 
weight  on  their  Ankles,  or  Pottocks  about  their 


A VERY  PERVERSE  GENERATION  67 

necks,  which  are  Iron  Rings  with  two  long  Spikes 
rivetted  to  them  or  a Spur  in  the  Mouth. 

"‘For  Negligence  they  are  usually  whipt  by  the 
Overseers  with  Lancewood  Switches  till  they  be 
bloody,  and  several  of  the  Switches  broken,  being 
first  tied  up  by  their  Hands  in  the  Mill  Houses. 
Beating  with  Manati  Straps  is  thought  too  cruel, 
and  therefore  prohibited  by  the  Customs  of  the 
Country.  The  Cicatrices  are  visible  on  their  skins 
for  ever  after,  and  a slave,  the  more  he  have  of  those, 
is  the  less  valu’d.”  So  that  was  why  it  was  pro- 
hibited to  beat  them  with  Manati  Straps,  for  they  do 
not  otherwise  appear  to  have  been  over-tender. 

‘‘After  they  are  whip’d  till  they  are  Raw  some 
put  on  their  Skins  Pepper  and  Salt  to  make  them 
smart ; at  other  times  their  Masters  will  drop  melted 
Wax  on  their  Skins  and  use  several  very  exquisite 
Torments.  These  Punishments  are  sometimes  merited 
by  the  Blacks,  who  are  a very  perverse  Generation  of 
People  ” (I  remember  that  Miriam,  my  first  waiting- 
maid,  who  wore  her  wool  standing  out  in  a series 
of  little  tails  like  a surprised  night-mare,  always 
considered  the  table  laid  when  she  had  put  on  the 
carving  knife,  even  though  we  proposed  to  eat  eggs), 
“and  though  they  appear  Harsh”  (harsh  is  hardly 
the  term  I should  have  used),  “yet  are  scarcely 
equal  to  some  of  their  Crimes  and  inferior  to  what 
punishments  other  European  nations  inflict  on  their 
slaves  in  the  East  Indies.” 

And  we  are  left  wondering  what  on  earth  the 
other  nations  could  have  done. 

But  there  was  one  safeguard,  a feeble  one  it 
is  true,  but  still  in  some  cases  I dare  say  it  was 
eflScacious. 

“ There  are  many  Negros  sold  to  the  Spaniards,” 
he  says,  “ who  are  either  brought  lately  from  Guinea, 


68 


JAMAICA'S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


or  bad  Servants  or  Mutinous  in  Plantations.  They 
are  sold  to  very  good  profit ; but  if  they  have  many 
Cicatrices  or  Scars  on  them,  the  marks  of  their  severe 
Corrections,  they  are  not  very  saleable.  The  English 
got  in  return  Cacao,  Sarsaparilla,  Pearls,  Emeralds, 
Cochineal,  Hides,  &c.” 

So  the  thought  of  the  pearls  and  emeralds  they 
might  be  worth,  perhaps  saved  many  a poor  slave 
from  the  cruel  treatment  that  otherwise  might  have 
been  his. 

‘‘I  saw  in  this  harbour  (Port  Royal),”  says  Sloane 
on  one  occasion,  '‘a  ship  come  from  the  Guineas 
loaded  with  blacks  to  sell.  The  Ship  was  very  nasty 
with  so  many  people  on  board.” 

“When  a Guinea  ship  comes  near  to  Jamaica 
with  Blacks  to  sell,”  he  goes  on,  “there  is  great  care 
taken  that  the  Negros  should  be  shaved,  trim’d,  and 
their  bodies  and  hair  anointed  all  over  with  Palm  Oil 
which  adds  great  beauty  to  them.  The  Planters 
chose  their  Negros  by  their  look  and  by  the  country 
from  which  they  come.  The  Blacks  from  the  East 
Indies  ” (what  a cruel  long  way  to  come  in  a slave 
ship)  “are  fed  on  Flesh  and  Fish  at  home,  and 
therefore  are  not  coveted,  because  troublesome  to 
nourish,  and  those  from  Angola  run  away  from  their 
Masters,  and  fancy  on  their  deaths  they  are  going 
home  again,  which  is  no  lucriferous  experiment,  for 
on  hard  usage  they  kill  themselves.”  No  wonder, 
poor  things,  no  wonder.  And  such  were  the  times 
that  kindly  Hans  Sloane  merely  remarks  it  is  “no 
lucriferous  experiment.” 

He  also  remarks  that  the  negroes  and  Indians 
used  to  bathe  themselves  in  fair  water  every  day  as 
“often  as  conveniently  they  can.”  Which  really 
sounds  as  if  their  masters  did  not. 

And  he  tells  of  treasure  ships  too,  does  Hans 


THE  GREAT  PLATE  SHIP  69 

Sloane,  treasure  ships  such  as  we  have  dreamed 
of  when  we  were  young.  He  tells  us  of  Sir  William 
Phipps  who  wrote  an  account  of  the  first  finding 
of  the  great  Plate  ship  wrecked  to  the  north-east  of 
Hispaniola.  He  went  with  one  Rogers  master  of 
a small  ship  to  Porto  Plata,  and  there  they  discharged 
three  guns  to  get  the  Spaniards  to  trade.  They 
came  down,  they  were  forbidden  to  trade  with  the 
English,  I believe,  and  the  English  sold  them  small 
Babies,”  ‘‘and  Searges,”  and  they  got  in  exchange 
hides  and  jerked  hogs  taken  by  the  hunters  there. 
Meanwhile  Rogers  had  his  heart  set  on  the  wreck 
and  was  making  enquiries  about  it.  He  actually 
went  looking  for  it  and  discovered  it  by  means  of  a 
“Sea  Feather  growing  on  the  planks  of  the  Ship 
lying  under  the  water.”  Back  he  came  with  the 
good  news,  and  Sir  William  Phipps  joined  him  with 
another  ship,  and  they  set  to  work  in  businesslike 
fashion  to  possess  themselves  of  that  silver.  The 
ship  was  a Spanish  galleon,  lost  about  the  year  1659, 
bound  to  Spain,  and  it  was  near  thirty  years  later 
that  these  Merchant  Venturers  turned  it  to  good 
account.  Their  two  ships  were  laden  with  trade  goods 
in  case  they  failed  to  find  the  ship,  but  having  found 
it  they  set  to  work  to  clear  away  the  coral  and  lapis 
astroites  which  had  grown  over  it,  and  “they  took 
up  silver  as  the  Weather  and  their  Divers  held  out, 
some  days  more  and  some  days  less.  The  small 
Ship  went  near,  the  great  one  rode  afar  ofi*.”  And 
they  actually  took  out  in  bullion  £22,196,  “30,826  of 
which  were  Sows,”  says  Sloane,  “and  great  Bars, 
336.”  But  it  must  have  been  pleasant  standing  on 
the  deck  of  that  small  ship  watching  the  sea- worn 
gold  and  silver  that  belonged  of  right  to  the 
Spaniards  dumped  on  the  planks.  So  the  Venturers 
found  it,  for  they  stayed  until  the  crews  were  short  of 

F 


70 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


provisions  and  they  had  brought  up  26  tons  of  silver. 
Then  a sloop  from  Bermuda  came  to  their  aid  with 
foodstuffs,  but  the  secret  was  out,  and  while  the 
foodless  ships  sailed  away  for  home  laden  with  their 
booty  that  sloop  went  back  to  Bermuda  and  talked, 
and  many  sloops  and  divers  were  sent  down  and  a 
vast  quantity  more  of  plate  and  money  was  taken  up, 
so  that  when  the  second  fleet  came  from  England 
most  of  what  was  left  of  that  rich  find  was  dispersed 
among  people  who  certainly  had  as  good  a right  to  it 
as  the  first  comers. 

After  that  it  became  quite  fashionable  to  take  out 
patents  to  hunt  for  wrecks,  and  though  Sloane  says 
much  money  was  made  on  that  first  wreck,  much 
more  was  lost  in  the  projects  than  ever  was  taken 
out  of  the  sea. 

Evidently  to  Hans  Sloane  his  expedition  to 
Jamaica  loomed  large,  for  it  was  years  after  he  left 
it  that  his  last  volume  on  the  subject  was  published. 
That  voyage  must  have  been  the  event  of  a fairly 
full  life.  After  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Albemarle, 
who  certainly  seems  to  have  been  a shining  example 
of  how  not  to  live  in  the  tropics,  Hans  Sloane, 
in  the  train  of  the  Duchess,  left  Jamaica  on  the 
16th  March  1689,  and  did  not  arrive  off  the  Lizard 
till  the  29th  May.  How  far  off  Jamaica  was  in 
those  days  we  may  judge  when  we  are  told  that 
the  fleet  was  afraid  to  go  into  Plymouth  because 
they  did  not  know  whether  England  was  at  war 
or  not.  At  last  they  picked  up  a fishing  smack 
and  heard  that  James  II.  had  been  deposed,  that 
William  III.  reigned  in  his  stead,  and  that  the 
Channel  was  full  of  French  privateers. 

Before  I leave  the  subject  of  Jamaica’s  first 
historian,  I must  tell  a strange  story  that  was  told 
me  by  a friend.  He  told  his  experience  reluctantly. 


THE  UNEXPLAINABLE 


71 


he  does  not  believe  in  the  supernatural,  and  he  is 
quite  sure  there  must  be  some  perfectly  natural 
explanation  of  the  incident  could  he  but  find  it. 
There  was  something  wrong  with  his  knee  and  he 
was  afraid  he  was  going  to  be  a cripple  for  life, 
for  no  doctor  could  find  out  what  was  wrong.  He 
used  to  struggle  from  his  bed  on  to  a board  and 
his  servants  carried  him  that  way  to  a sofa,  where 
he  spent  his  daylight  hours.  So  it  went  on  from 
day  to  day  and  he  had  little  hope  of  getting  better. 
At  night  his  black  manservant  slept  on  the  floor 
close  to  his  bed,  so  as  to  be  near  in  case  he  should 
want  any  help.  Naturally,  being  a young  and  active 
man  and  not  given  to  books,  he  was  much  depressed 
at  the  outlook. 

One  night  as  he  lay  in  bed  he  wakened  suddenly 
from  his  sleep  with  the  feeling  that  somebody  was 
in  the  room.  For  a moment  he  could  see  nothing, 
only  hear  the  snores  of  the  man  on  the  floor.  Then 
as  he  looked  he  saw  the  moonlight  streaming  through 
the  open  window,  and  right  in  its  light  stood  a man, 
not  anyone  he  knew,  but  a white  man  with  a kindly 
face,  his  brown  hair  drawn  back  and  tied  behind 
with  a ribbon,  and  his  brown  coat,  knee-breeches, 
stockings  and  shoes  those  of  other  days.  He 
said  nothing,  but,  smiling  quietly,  came  towards  the 
bed  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  injured  leg  began 
slowly  stroking  it  up  and  down.  It  was  infinitely 
soothing,  and  presently  to  his  surprise  my  friend 
closed  his  eyes,  and  when  he  opened  them  again 
his  strange  visitor  had  gone.  He  felt  strangely  at 
ease  and  fell  asleep.  When  he  waked  in  the  morning 
he  rose  up,  and,  discarding  the  board  on  which  he 
had  been  carried,  told  everyone  he  was  going  to  get 
well  and  would  require  it  no  more.  And  sure  enough 
he  never  did. 


72  JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 

From  that  day  he  mended  and  now  hardly  knows 
which  leg  was  bad.  But  instead  of  wondering,  as 

1 should  have  done,  whether  the  Duke  of  Albemarle's 
physician  had  visited  him,  he  says,  ‘‘  Only  fancy,  I’m 
sure  it  was  only  fancy.”  He  is  not  a reading  man, 
and  I don’t  think  he  has  ever  heard  of  Hans  Sloane. 

But  if  I skipped  some  of  Hans  Sloane’s  two 
great  volumes,  I must  confess  to  having  raced  through 
at  a much  faster  rate  many  of  the  other  books  on 
early  Jamaica.  There  is  a novel  called  Marly ^ the 
scene  of  which  is  laid  in  the  beginning  of  the  last 
century,  and  so  dull  it  is  I can  hardly  believe  it  was 
presented  to  people  for  amusement.  If  they  had 
nothing  else  to  read,  it  almost  excuses  the  ignorance 
and  easy  - going  ways  of  the  planters  and  their 
families.  Not  that  these  regarded  themselves  as 
ignorant  by  any  means.  Uncultured  as  they  were, 
they  held  themselves  far  above  any  of  their  depen- 
dents, though  the  ladies  might,  and  often  did,  sit 
round  the  pepper  pot  with  their  black  serving  women, 
ate  as  they  did,  and  talked  as  they  did.  Lady 
Nugent,  the  Governor’s  wife,  between  1801  and  1805, 
found  great  difficulty  in  talking  to  them,  and  she, 
of  course,  met  the  best. 

‘‘A  party  of  ladies  with  me  at  the  Penn,”  she 
writes,  and  never  was  there  anything  so  completely 
stupid.  All  I could  get  out  of  them  was,  ‘Yes, 
ma’am,’  ‘No,  ma’am,’  with  now  and  then  a simper 
or  a giggle.  At  last  I set  them  to  work  stringing 
beads,  which  is  now  one  of  my  occupations ; and  I 
was  heartily  glad  when  their  carriages  came  at 

2 o’clock.” 

Of  course  Lady  Nugent  forgets  that  she  was 
a very  great  lady,  and  that  quite  likely  these  wives 
and  daughters  of  the  planters  were  shy.  They  might 
have  shown  to  greater  advantage  if  she  could  have 


LADY  NUGENT  ON  THE  COLONIAL  LADIES  73 

met  them  on  equal  terms.  But  she  never  did.  She 
seems  to  have  been  a cheery  soul,  but  I am  afraid 
she  was  convinced  she  was  made  of  very  superior 
clay.  She  is  always  complaining  that  she  finds 
‘‘  sad  want  of  local  matter  or  indeed  any  subject  of 
conversation  with  them.”  The  manner  of  their  speech, 
too,  was  bad. 

“ The  Creole  language,”  she  says,  ‘‘is  not  confined 
to  the  negroes.  Many  of  the  ladies  who  have  not 
been  educated  in  England  speak  a sort  of  broken 
English,  with  an  indolent  drawling  out  of  their  words 
that  is  very  tiresome,  if  not  disgusting.  I stood  next 
to  a lady  one  night,  next  to  a window,  and  by  way 
of  saying  something  remarked  that  the  air  was  much 
cooler  than  usual,  to  which  she  answered,  “Yes, 
ma’am,  him  railly  too  fra-ish.” 

Probably  we  should  be  surprised  could  we 
reincarnate  them  to  find  these  ladies  giving  them- 
selves all  the  airs  of  a grande  dame,  though  they  had 
less  learning  than  any  cook-maid  nowadays,  less  than 
the  little  black  boys  and  girls  trotting  along  the  steep 
and  stony  paths  with  slates  on  their  heads  to  their 
daily  school.  But  the  lords  and  ladies  of  that  time 
were  hardly  models  of  decorum. 

“I  wish,”  goes  on  this  gossipy  good  lady  who 
is  very  sure  of  herself  and  her  own  position  in 
the  world,  “ I wish  Lord  Balcarres  ” (the  Governor 
whose  place  General  Nugent  was  taking)  “would 
wash  his  hands  and  use  a nail  brush,  for  the  black 
edges  of  his  nails  really  make  me  sick.  He  has, 
besides,  an  extraordinary  propensity  to  dip  his 
fingers  into  every  dish.  Yesterday  he  absolutely 
helped  himself  to  some  fricassee  with  his  dirty 
finger  and  thumb.”  And  again,  “We  drove  to  Lord 
Balcarres’  Penn.  Never  was  such  a scene  of  dirt 
and  discomfort.  Lord  B.  was  in  a sad  fright. 


74 


JAMAICA’S  FIRST  HISTORIAN 


thinking  we  should  expect  breakfast.  However, 
upon  his  secretary’s  Avhispering  to  me  that  there 
was  but  one  whole  teacup  and  a saucer  and  a 
half,  we  declared  our  intention  of  returning  to  the 
King’s  House,  where  a party  was  waiting  for  us 
to  breakfast.” 

If  that  could  be  written  of  the  King’s  repre- 
sentative of  one  of  the  premier  colonies  only  thirty-five 
years  before  Queen  Victoria  came  to  the  throne, 
what  must  we  not  forgive  in  the  planters  of  a 
century  earlier. 

Lady  Nugent  has  a certain  fearful  joy  in  recount- 
ing the  backslidings  of  the  men  of  her  day,  which 
makes  her  most  amusing  reading,  while  it  certainly 
throws  a good  deal  of  light  on  the  manners  and 
customs  of  her  times. 

“The  overseer,  a vulgar  Scotch  officer  on  half 
pay,  did  the  honours  to  us.  ...  I talked  to  the 
black  women,  who  told  me  all  their  histories.  The 
overseer’s  chere  amie  (and  no  man  here  is  without 
one)  is  a tall  black  woman,  well  made,  with  a flat 
nose,  thick  lips  and  a skin  of  ebony,  highly  polished 
and  shining.  She  showed  me  her  three  yellow 
children,  and  said  with  ostentation  she  would  soon 
have  another.  . . . The  marked  attention  of  the 
other  women  plainly  proved  her  to  be  the  favourite 
Sultana  of  this  vulgar,  ugly  Scotch  Sultan.” 

As  a rule,  of  course,  white  ladies  did  not  visit 
the  house  where  a coloured  woman  was  established. 
They  probably  giggled  and  sniggered,  and  talked  in 
hushed  voices  into  each  other’s  ears,  while  the 
little  girls  looked  innocent  and  had  to  pretend  they 
did  not  understand,  but  Lady  Nugent  seems  to 
have  broken  down  the  unwritten  law,  perhaps  like 
a King  of  old  she  was  above  all  law. 

She  tells  a story  of  a slave  addressing  a Mr 


THE  MORALS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTERS  75 

Sliirley,  profligate  character  as  far  as  I can 
understand.” 

“ ‘ Hi,  Massa,  you  telly  me  marry  one  wife  which 
is  no  good.  You  no  tinky  I see  you  buckra  no 
content  wid  one,  two,  three,  four  wives,  no  more 
poor  negro.’  The  overseers,  too,  are  in  general 
needy  adventurers,  without  either  principle,  religion, 
or  morality.  Of  course  their  example  must  be  the 
worst  possible  to  these  poor  creatures.  . The 
smugness  of  Lady  Nugent ! 

“A  little  mulatto  girl  sent  into  the  drawing- 
room to  amuse  me,”  says  she,  writing  of  her  visit 
to  Mr  Simon  Taylor’s,  an  old  bachelor  at  Liguanea. 
‘'She  was  a sickly,  delicate  child,  with  straight 
light  hair  and  very  black  eyes.  Mr  T.  appeared 
very  anxious  for  me  to  dismiss  her,  and  in  the 
evening  the  housekeeper  told  me  she  was  his  own 
daughter  and  he  had  a numerous  family,  some 
almost  on  every  one  of  his  estates.” 

When  she  left  the  gentlemen  she  took  tea  in 
her  own  room,  surrounded  by  the  black,  brown, 
and  yellow  ladies  of  the  house,  and  fairly  revelled 
in  gossip,  this  being  the  time,  of  course,  when  she 
heard  of  its  master’s  peccadilloes. 

We  smile  at  Lady  Nugent,  but  after  all  she 
does  succeed  in  giving  us  some  idea  of  how  the 
planters  of  Jamaica  lived  in  her  day,  all  the  more 
so  because  she  is  unconscious  of  doing  anything 
beyond  telling  the  tale  of  her  life  and  sufferings 
in  a far  land  with  what  she  regarded  as  a pestilential 
climate.  But  she  by  no  means  holds  such  a high 
place  in  my  affections  as  Hans  Sloane. 


CHAPTEE  IV 


THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 

Jamaica  is  a thickly  populated  country.  The  last 
census  taken  in  1911  gave  a population  of  197  to 
the  square  mile,  and  this  is  mostly  black,  for  the 
same  statistics  give  something  under  16,000  white 
people  to  close  on  800,000  black  and  coloured,  and 
in  all  probability  among  the  so-called  white  there 
would  be  a trace  of  colour. 

Now  I was  warned  not  to  touch  on  the  colour 
question  when  I wrote  on  Jamaica,  which  is  really 
like  writing  about  the  present  times  without  mention- 
ing the  Great  War.  You  must  mention  the  colour 
question.  If  a man  is  charming  and  courteous  and 
well  educated,  what  can  it  matter  what  his  shade, 
and  I who  was  brought  up  in  Australia,  where  the 
colour  question  is  a burning  one,  can  say  this  with 
feeling. 

I have  listened  to  a white  woman,  whose  only 
recommendation  was  that  she  was  white,  draw  herself 
up  and  sniff  when  speaking  of  a highly  cultivated 
man  whose  only  fault  in  her  eyes  could  be  that  there 
was  a trace  of  colour  in  his  veins. 

“Well,  I promised  my  husband  I’d  receive  him^ 
but  his  wife — I do  draw  the  line  at  his  wife.” 

I could  see  no  reason  why  she  should  not  receive 
his  wife,  who  had  seen  a great  deal  more  of  the 
world  than  she  had  and  was  a much  more  interesting 

76 


[Face  parje  7t3. 


Christiansborg  Castle  (Gold  Coast). 


' ' ' , '■'r'^:-;  ,■  -:r,  i-  ■..^■»u. 


I.-  ,t»  ■ f.-- -:K.>  ^’>  •’  ■ - zi~  . ' ■'=- 

••''•■■  4>W5S3--i  •■■*'^.--  --r-i /■'*;--.  .■  ^.5. 


p.„.  .3^_,;-'  .'  -. 

» : .=." , ’ 

-«--  **  *'*  ' \ ' »■  . ■ A‘  ■>  ^ „ 

ill*'  Jir*T,  .T^  ' •' - - --I 

■,.  , ^•-  •>.  y * r- 

rg^-  ' 'n-4-  " --tfif.-SwilgJjiSftA  -'*iia»i-a' 

, i>4^--  its'.  .•■■:.u>--A<. 'y : ,..^- r>^-:j..  y_ 


- , • ‘ /i' » - .*f;  ■ 


...  . » - i - ( 

m ■ , r'  .*•»  * M'w  .V  • ‘ 1*.,^  f.LJkimii 


DIFFICULTY  OF  DRESS 


77 


personality.  Every  man  has  a right  to  choose  his 
personal  friends,  but  it  seems  to  me  the  only  reason 
why  a community  should  ban  a race  is  when  that 
race  lowers  the  standard  of  living  and  so  imperils 
the  life  of  the  master  people.  This,  of  course,  is 
at  the  root  of  the  colour  question,  and  I could  write 
a book  about  it. 

Men  and  women  with  just  a dash  of  the  tar  brush 
are  often  extremely  good  looking,  in  fact,  never  have 
I seen  more  beautiful  children  than  in  Jamaica, 
save  possibly  in  Sicily,  where  a dash  of  colour  from 
Africa  thrown  into  the  stock  long,  long  ago,  makes 
for  beauty.  But  the  black  man,  however  good 
looking,  however  well  educated,  has  one  handicap ; 
a stiffly  starched  white  shirt-front  and  a black  evening 
coat  bear  very  heavily  indeed  on  him.  He  may  be 
college  bred,  have  the  softest  and  most  cultivated 
of  voices,  but  the  dress  imposed  upon  him  by  civilisa- 
tion is  apt  to  take  away  from  his  dignity.  In  Africa 
they  are  beginning  to  realise  this,  and  the  Ashanti 
Chief  is  never  allowed  to  dress  in  European  costume, 
and  he  looks  every  inch  a Chief  in  the  beautiful  silken 
robes,  the  gay  colours  of  which  set  off  the  complexion 
the  sun  has  kissed. 

And  if  a black  man  looks  bad  in  fashionable 
clothes,  the  black  woman  looks  even  worse.  How 
this  can  be  mended  I know  not,  but  I feel  sure  that 
as  soon  as  the  black  people  find  a style  of  dress 
that  will  set  off  their  beauty,  much  of  the  feeling 
against  coloured  blood  will  vanish. 

It  is  coming.  I went  to  church  one  day  in 
Kingston,  and,  I think,  with  the  exception  of  the 
minister  in  black  Geneva  gown  and  white  bands,  I 
was  the  only  full-blooded  white  person  present.  But 
the  church  was  full  and  the  people  struck  me  as 
being  very  good  looking  and  well  dressed,  especially 


78  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


the  little  children.  A dainty  little  girl  of  African 
blood  with  flashing  dark  eyes  and  milk-white  teeth, 
dressed  in  white  embroidery  with  white  socks  and 
shoes  and  a white  ribbon  in  her  dark  hair,  is  a thing 
of  beauty. 

The  most  lovely  girl  I have  ever  seen  in  my  life 
is  a Creole  with  a little  coloured  blood  in  her  veins. 
She  has  long  brown  hair,  splendid  dark  eyes,  white 
teeth,  and  a clear  skin  of  pale  brown  that  is  soft 
as  velvet.  She  is  more  than  common  tall,  but  so 
well  proportioned  that  you  do  not  think  so  until 
you  see  her  beside  some  other  woman.  She  is  an 
athlete,  she  can  ride,  she  can  dance,  and  she  can 
swim  and  dive  like  a fish.  Truly  a daughter  of 
the  Gods  is  she,  and  Jamaica  may  be  proud  of  her. 

There  are  people  who  will  say,  “Yes,  at  nineteen, 
but  these  Creoles  always  go  ofiP,  their  beauty  does 
not  last.  They  grow  old  so  soon.”  Exactly  the  same 
was  said  of  om'  grandmothers  and  great-grandmothers. 
The  Creole  who  lives  wisely,  as  women  are  beginning 
to  live  everywhere  nowadays,  is  quite  as  likely  to 
be  good  looking  at  forty,  or  even  at  sixty,  I think, 
as  the  daughter  of  a cooler  clime.  Of  course  if  she 
yield  to  indolence  and  do  nothing  but  suck  sweets 
or  smoke  cigarettes  and  sleep,  why,  the  inevitable 
will  happen. 

My  daughter  of  the  tropics  is  abounding  in  life. 
She  owns  a canoe,  the  Dodo,  a little  light  boat, 
with  which  she  can  go  skimming  over  the  waters 
of  Montego  Bay. 

“I  only  take  the  children  who  can  swim  well,” 
says  she,  “and  when  I was  younger,  they  won’t 
let  me  now  I’m  grown  up,  we  used  to  visit  all  the 
schooners  and  cutters  that  came  into  the  bay.” 

The  logwood  schooners  are  manned  by  Norwegians, 
big  fair  men,  who  complimented  her  on  her  skill  in 


A DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GODS 


79 


managing  a boat,  and  said  she  ought  to  have  come 
from  the  North,  “though  why,”  said  she,  “shouldn’t 
a Creole  sail  a boat?”  And  there  are  big  brown 
men  from  the  Cayman  Islands,  descendants  of  the 
buccaneers,  giants  with  the  blood  of  all  the  nations 
of  the  world  in  their  veins.  They  trade  in  salt. 
And  men  of  all  shades,  from  palest  yellow  to  the 
blackest  black,  go  dodging  in  and  out  of  Jamaican 
ports,  and  one  and  all  they  carry  on  their  bowsprits 
a shark’s  fin  to  make  their  little  ships  sail  well. 

“ But  why,”  I asked,  “ did  you  only  take  children 
who  could  swim  ? ” 

“Because,”  she  laughed,  “if  you  fall  out  of  a 
canoe  you  can’t  get  in  again.”  And  she  told  me  how 
on  one  occasion  the  laden  canoe  became  extremely 
interested  in  an  electric  eel  Iving  on  the  bottom, 
for  the  water  of  the  bay  is  beautifully  clear,  and 
all  rushed  to  one  side  to  inspect.  Over  went  the 
little  craft,  and  then  the  biggest  boy,  aged  I think 
12,  saw  the  danger  and  flung  himself  to  the  other 
side.  He  was  just  in  time.  The  boat  righted  itself, 
but  he  lost  his  balance  and  fell  into  the  water,  with 
more  than  a mile  to  go  before  he  reached  the  shore. 
No  wonder  young  Diana  insists  that  all  her  passengers 
should  be  able  to  swim  well. 

There  are  some  useful  citizens  growing  up  in 
Montego  Bay  for  a nation  that  counts  herself  the 
ruler  of  the  seas. 

I set  out  to  write  about  the  Castles  on  the  Guinea 
Coast,  and  I have  wandered  to  the  shores  of  Montego 
Bay  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  yet  they  are 
not  as  far  apart  as  one  would  think. 

It  is  a far,  far  cry  from  the  days  when  the 
Portuguese,  and  the  English,  and  Dutch,  and  Danes, 
and  Brandenburgers,  and  Swedes,  built  with  slave 
labour  great  stone  castles  with  walls  and  bastions. 


80  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


towers,  and  portcullises,  all  along  the  Guinea  Coast 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Gambia  Eiver  to  Whydah  in 
Dahomey.  The  castles  are  there  to-day  to  tell  the 
tale,  and  some  years  ago  before  the  war  I travelled 
along  300  miles  of  that  coast  in  a hammock  borne  on 
men’s  heads,  and  again  and  again  as  we  moved  along, 
our  pace  regulated  by  that  of  the  slowest  carrier  who 
bore  my  goods  upon  his  head,  there  loomed  up  before 
us  either  on  a jutting  headland,  or  at  the  head  of 
some  shallow  bay,  the  grey  and  massive  walls  of 
some  long  - forgotten  Castle.  Truly  one  may  say 
forgotten,  only  a few  officials  remember  these  trading 
strongholds  of  the  past,  and  if  some  care,  those  in 
authority  declare  they  are  not  worth  keeping  up  since 
they  are  but  relics  of  an  iniquitous  trade  that  is  best 
not  remembered. 

But  the  past  cannot  be  wiped  out.  I hardly 
understood  that  till  I came  to  Jamaica,  till  I watched 
the  black  women  in  ragged  frocks  and  dilapidated 
hats  weeding  my  garden,  till  I saw  the  roads  thronged 
with  them  bearing  bm’dens  on  their  heads.  It  was 
forced  upon  me  more  emphatically  when  there  came 
into  my  compound  in  Montego  Bay  one  of  the  men 
who  helped  mend  the  roads  in  the  forlornest  remains 
of  what  had  once  been  a shirt  and  trousers,  while  on 
his  arm  he  wore  what  made  him  look  like  the  savage 
he  was,  a bracelet  of  some  red  composition  which 
had  doubtless  by  its  bright  colour  caught  his  eye. 
These  were  the  same  people,  the  very  same  people 
who  had  been  brought  from  the  Guinea  Coast,  more 
than  one  hundred,  more  than  two  hundred  years  ago. 
They  are  the  same  people  you  see  on  the  Guinea 
Coast  to-day.  They  called  the  people  from  this 
coast  Koromantyns,  and  though  they  were,  they  said, 
the  best  slaves  to  be  had,  strong  and  vigorous,  yet  the 
French  and  Spanish  refused  to  buy  them,  for  they 


RUINS  OF  KOROMANTYN 


81 


were  warlike  and  were  apt  to  rise  and  tight  fiercely 
for  their  liberty.  Probably  many  of  them  had 
Ashanti  blood  in  their  veins,  and  the  Ashantis  made 
good  fighting  men.  The  Krobos,  too,  were  a little 
more  to  the  East,  and  the  Krobos  were  savages  who, 
even  in  this  century,  allowed  no  young  man  to  marry 
until  he  had  killed  his  man. 

Often  these  fortified  castles  of  the  different 
European  nations  were  within  a stone’s  throw  of 
each  other,  often  they  were  destroyed,  often  they 
changed  hands  as  the  power  of  one  nation  waxed  or 
waned,  but  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries 
the  trade  was  the  great  thing  and  these  men  of  old 
held  their  little  scraps  of  land,  held  them  though  the 
holding  cost  them  many  lives. 

Koromantyn,  a Castle  not  far  from  Cape  Coast, 
was  the  chief  trading  place  of  the  English  along  that 
shore,  till  De  Ruyter  knocked  it  about  their  ears. 
The  custom  of  the  English,  I judged,  when  they  built 
a Castle  for  themselves,  and  did  not  take  it  from  some 
one  else,  was  to  choose  a site  at  the  head  of  a bay 
and  build  close  down  to  the  water’s  edge,  but 
Koromantyn  departs  from  the  usual  practice  and 
was  built  on  high  rising  ground,  a site  the  Portuguese 
(Portugals  the  old  mariners  called  them)  themselves 
might  have  chosen.  I have  thought  of  it  many  a 
time  since  I came  to  Jamaica,  for  always  the  slave 
risings — and  the  risings  were  many — were  headed  by 
the  Koromantyns.  Even  now,  guarding  nothing,  for 
the  courtyard  is  overgrown  with  tropical  vegetation, 
its  ruined  walls  rise  up  tall  and  steep  and  straight, 
and  at  their  foot  among  the  rubble  and  coarse  grass, 
lie  rusting  the  cannon  that  once  made  them  formidable. 

Peniember,  it  was  not  only  the  black  men  who 
suffered,  for  if  with  cruel  force  upon  the  sons  of  Ham 
fell  the  primeval  curse,  the  venturesome  men  who 


82  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 

dared  so  much  for  greed  and  adventure  were  not 
exempt.  And  they  were  venturesome.  Reading 
between  the  lines  as  we  look  up  the  old  records, 
we  feel  that  the  trials  endured  in  the  finding  of 
the  Poles  were  more  than  equalled  by  what  these 
traders  of  old  must  have  borne  in  their  search  for 
wealth,  the  wealth  ofttimes  being  for  someone  else. 
The  gold  is  only  found  further  inland  now,  the 
elephant  is  gone,  and  the  trade  in  men  is  dead. 
Dead,  yes ; but  it  is  impossible  to  forget  here  in 
Jamaica,  or  as  you  wander  along  the  Guinea  Coast. 
The  sands  of  the  sea  cry  the  story,  the  shame,  shame, 
shame  of  it ! the  tumbling  waves  take  it  up,  and  insist 
as  they  crash  on  the  sand  in  the  still  hot  noonday, 
or  in  the  glory  of  the  moonlight  night,  that  the  end  is 
not  yet.  I did  not  understand  what  they  cried  to  me 
then,  but  Jamaica  cries  out,  “ Here,  here,  is  the  un- 
finished work  of  those  old  time  slavers,  here  is  the  job 
incomplete,  left  for  Britain  to  finish  as  best  she  may.” 
One  hot  day  in  March  I left  Cape  Coast  and 
came  by  the  sea-shore,  ten  miles  or  more,  along  the 
yielding  sand,  just  beyond  reach  of  the  furious  white 
surf,  but  not  out  of  the  reach  of  its  spray,  and  the 
memories  of  the  men  of  old,  the  men  who  traded 
here  when  Cromwell  ruled  in  England,  when  Queen 
Anne  sat  on  the  throne,  when  the  unwelcome  Georges 
came  over  from  Hanover,  crowded  thick  in  every 
grove  of  coconut  palms,  rose  to  meet  me  on  every 
grassy  headland.  The  footsteps  of  the  hammock 
bearers  were  clearly  marked,  and  the  waves  came 
sweeping  up  and  swept  them  away,  the  black  crabs, 
like  so  many  pincushions  on  stilts,  raced  after  the 
receding  waters,  and  the  wading-birds  stalked  over  the 
half-liquid  sand  seeking  their  livelihood.  Overhead 
was  the  heavy  blue  African  sky,  on  the  right,  the  dark 
blue  sea  with  white-topped  breakers  that  rushed  from 


AN  OLD  TIME  TRADER 


83 


the  Pole,  half  a world  away,  to  fling  themselves  in 
thunderous  clamour  upon  the  Guinea  Coast,  and  on 
the  left  was  a low  sandy  ridge  covered  with  sparse 
sea-grass  and  broad-leaved  creeping  bean.  Just  such 
a bean  grows  on  the  sea-shore,  outside  the  gates  of 
my  house  here  in  Montego  Bay,  where  I write  this 
book.  Here  and  there  was  a little  low  undergrowth 
and  coarse  elephant  grass,  and  again  and  again  were 
palm-thatched  villages,  with  surf  boats  drawn  up  on 
the  sand,  and  groves  of  coconut  palms  that  added 
beauty  to  the  scene.  The  brawny,  dark  men  fished, 
flinging  their  nets  into  the  sea,  or  launched  their  surf 
boats  on  a wider  venture,  and  the  women  beat  their 
cassava  or  banana  into  henky  or  fufu^  and  the  little 
naked  pot-bellied  children  played  in  the  shade  as 
children  play  all  the  world  over,  and  raced  to  see  the 
unusual  sight  of  a white  woman  who  had  departed  from 
the  usual  custom  of  the  white  folks  and  come  along 
the  shore. 

Such  is  the  scene  now,  such  was  the  scene  more 
than  three  hundred  years  ago,  when  the  maiden  Queen 
sat  on  the  throne  of  England  and  Hawkins  made  his 
first  expedition,  such  was  the  scene  a hundred  years 
later  when  Phillips  in  the  Hannibal  of  450  tons  and 
36  guns  came  on  an  expedition  trading  for  gold, 
elephants’  teeth,  and  slaves — more  especially  for 
slaves.  I thought  of  those  old-world  men  as  we 
passed  along,  and  the  sea  kept  wiping  out  all  traces 
of  the  passing  of  my  hammock  bearers.  But  the 
people  would  remember  that  in  such  a year  a white 
woman  had  passed  that  way,  even  as  I remembered 
that  Phillips  had  passed.  And  the  cool  of  the 
morning  passed,  and  the  breathless  sweltering  March 
midday  of  the  Guinea  Coast  held  all  the  land,  and 
grey  stone  walls  loomed  up  clear-cut  against  the  blue 
of  the  sky. 


84  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 

‘‘  A Castle  ? ” 

“Annamabu,  Ma.  You  chop?”  That  was  all 
my  headman  thought.  For  him  there  was  no  past. 
He  had  come  from  Cape  Coast  this  morning — if 
he  could  only  make  me  see  that  it  was  fit  and 
suitable  that  I should  stay  at  Annamabu  till  the 
following  morning,  that  was  all  the  future  he  asked. 

Annamabu  is  right  on  the  sea-shore,  built  upon 
the  rocks  that  crop  out  of  the  surrounding  sand. 
So  did  the  English  keep  watch  and  ward  over  their 
trade  here.  It  is  a great  square  grey  pile,  dignified 
in  its  very  simplicity,  and  the  only  entrance  is 
through  a low  tunnel  in  the  great  wall,  narrow, 
and  nowhere  more  than  five  feet  four  high.  Once 
the  dark  people  of  the  land  took  Annamabu, 
how,  I cannot  imagine,  for  those  straight  grim 
walls  would  seem  to  defy  anything  that  a savage 
people  could  bring  against  them.  There  was  a town 
at  a little  distance,  built  for  the  most  part  with 
the  swish  walls  and  thatched  roofs  common  to  the 
country,  but  here  and  there,  shabby  with  the  shabbi- 
ness of  the  tropics  and  the  negro  combined,  were 
stone  houses  built  on  European  lines  that  must 
have  been  miniature  forts  in  their  time.  There 
is  no  need  of  a fort  now,  there  is  peace  in  the 
land,  even  the  mighty  pile  of  the  Castle  is  delivered 
over  to  the  care  of  the  negroes,  and  the  glory  is 
departed.  I went  up  the  slanting  path  to  the 
narrow  entrance,  the  entrance,  grim  and  dark  and 
damp,  and  I got  out  of  my  hammock  for  it  was 
too  narrow  to  admit  a hammock,  and  walked  into 
the  courtyard  where  the  powers  that  be,  represented 
by  a medical  officer  some  miles  away  along  the 
shore,  had  piled  up  a store  of  boards  to  make  certain 
accommodation  for  the  town  of  Annamabu,  which 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  of  Annamabu,  being 


Photo  by] 


Annamabu  Fort. 


[the  Author. 


Gateway,  Annamabu  Fort. 


[the  Author. 


Photo  by] 


[Face  page  S4. 


SLAVE  LABOUR 


85 


children  of  nature,  will  never  use.  The  sun  beat 
down  in  that  courtyard  and  took  one’s  energy  away. 
How,  how  in  this  languid,  languishing  heat  were 
these  mighty  stones  ever  piled  one  upon  the  other? 
Only,  surely,  by  slave  labour,  only,  surely,  by  the 
aid  of  the  whip  and  the  goad. 

The  negro  inhabitants  are  accounted  very  bold 
and  stout  fellows,”  said  Phillips  of  tl^e  Hannibal 
who  had  come  to  enslave  them,  ‘‘but  the  most 
desperate,  treacherous  villains  and  great  cheats  upon 
the  whole  coast,  for  the  gold  here  is  accounted  the 
worst  and  most  mixed  with  brass  of  any  in  Guiny. 
The  Castle,  pretty  strong,  of  about  18  guns.” 

It  was  an  offshoot  of  Koromantyn  and  was 
built  by  the  Eoyal  Adventurers  of  England  in  1624, 
but  Admiral  de  Euyter,  the  Dutchman,  in  1665 
drove  them  out  and  took  the  castle,  not  without 
a good  deal  of  bloodshed.  But  in  1673  a new 
company,  the  Eoyal  African  Company  was  formed, 
and  out  of  the  wrecked  remains  of  what  de  Euyter 
had  left  they  built  up  the  present  castle.  It  was 
mysterious  to  go  out  of  the  garish  sunshine  of  the 
courtyard  into  the  gloom  of  the  tunnelled  staircase 
that  led  to  the  bastion,  and  to  remember  that  Phillips 
and  men  of  his  ilk  had  passed  up  that  self-same 
staircase  more  than  two  hundred  years  before,  had 
stood  on  that  self-same  bastion  in  like  hot  sunshine, 
had  watched  the  vultures  settle  on  the  roof  of  the 
little  ammunition  house  in  the  corner,  and  the  flag 
of  Britain  flutter  out  from  the  flag- staff  that  the 
I hard  cement  foundation  supported.  Beyond  was 
. the  sea,  whence  had  come  those  grim  old  slavers, 

1 and  I,  a woman  from  the  South,  the  land  of  liberty. 

! All  round  the  walls  from  their  embrasures  grinned 
those  eighteen  guns  that  defended  the  castle  and 
terrorised  the  negroes.  And  round  them  is  piled 

G 


i 


86  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


up  the  shot  that  has  never  been  used  and  will 
never  be  used  now.  On  the  west  side  the  coconut 
palms  have  grown  up,  the  wind  whispers  among 
the  fronds  that  overshadow  the  guns,  whispers  that 
though  their  day  is  done  the  problem  that  they 
started  still  remains,  and  has  only  been  taken  with 
blood  and  bitter  tears  to  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  By  the  sea-shore  of  this  lovely  island 
I hear  its  echo  crying  mournfully.  In  one  of  the 
embrasures  of  the  wall  from  among  the  piled  shot 
had  grown  up  a green  pawpaw  tree.  The  pawpaw 
is  but  an  ephemeral  thing,  a tree  of  a year  or  so, 
but  its  fruit  is  good  to  eat.  Shall  good  come  out 
of  evil?  It  marks  decay  too.  Not  so  would  they 
have  kept  the  castle  when  Phillips  saluted  with 
seven  guns  to  show  he  was  minded  to  trade  for 
those  “stalwart  villains,”  the  men  of  Annamabu. 

Everything  is  very  straight  up  and  down,  very 
square  and  grey  and  solid.  Possibly  Mr  Searle, 
the  factor  Phillips  talks  about,  and  his  young 
mulatto  wife  dwelt  in  those  rooms  or  in  rooms 
not  unlike  them,  very  tall  and  large,  with  great 
window  spaces.  There  was  little  furniture  in  my 
time,  though  this  was  supposed  to  be  a rest-house. 
But  no  man  ever  comes  along  the  coast  now,  now 
that  the  slaves  are  not,  and  the  gold  is  not,  and 
the  elephants  are  gone.  The  place  is  held  solely 
for  the  benefit  of  the  negro,  and  the  dust  has  settled 
on  everything.  There  are  customs  clerks  and 
telegraph  clerks,  but  they  are  negro,  and  as  yet 
they  do  not  care.  Neither  do  the  English  who 
dwell  and  rule  from  Accra,  for  Accra  is  far,  when 
the  only  means  of  progression  is  a man’s  pace, 
and  the  rulers  say,  “These  old  shells  of  castles 
are  not  worth  preserving.”  Are  they  not  ? 

But,  indeed  and  indeed,  the  air  is  thick  with 


POOR,  HAPPY,  SAD,  PITIFUL  CHILDREN  87 

memories.  Here,  in  these  dark  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  hot  and  airless,  did  they  store  their  goods  in 
olden  days,  “perpetuanos  and  sayes,  knives,  old 
sheets,  pewter  basons  and  muskets,”  which  Phillips 
has  left  on  record  were  the  best  goods  with  which 
to  buy  slaves  on  the  Gold  Coast  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  They  did  not  bring  out  their  women,  but 
they  took  to  themselves  wives  of  the  daughters 
of  the  land,  comely,  smooth-skinned,  dark-eyed  girls, 
with  full,  round  bosoms  and  a carriage  like  queens, 
and  the  daughters  of  these  unions  were  much 
sought  after. 

“Then  came  Mrs  Kankin,”  writes  Phillips,  of  a 
factor’s  temporary  wife,  “who  was  a pretty  young 
mulatto  with  a rich  silk  cloth  about  her  middle, 
and  a silk  cap  upon  her  head,  flowered  with  gold 
and  silver,  under  which  her  hair  was  combed  out 
at  length,  for  the  mulattoes  covet  to  wear  it  so 
in  imitation  of  the  whites” — remember  the  white 
men  wore  their  hair  long  in  those  days — “never 
curling  it  up  or  letting  it  frizzle  as  the  blacks  do. 
She  was  accompanied,  or  rather  attended  by  the 
second’s  and  doctor’s  wives,  who  were  young  blacks 
about  thirteen  years  of  age.  This  is  a very  pleasant 
way  of  marrying,”  goes  on  the  gossipy  mariner, 
“for  they  can  turn  them  ofiP  and  take  others  at 
pleasure,  which  makes  them  very  careful  to  humour 
their  husbands  in  washing  their  linen,  cleaning 
their  chambers,  etc.,  and  the  charge  of  keeping 
them  is  little  or  nothing.” 

Poor  children,  poor,  happy,  sad,  pitiful  children, 
bearing  children  and  taking  a woman’s  part  in 
ministering  to  the  pleasures  of  these  their  masters 
at  an  age  when  our  children  would  still  be  babies 
in  the  nursery.  It  was  a custom  that  died  hard. 
Twelve  years  ago  the  nursing  sister  at  Sekondi  told 


88  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 

me  that  when  first  she  was  stationed  there  she 
saw  a girl,  just  arrived  at  marriageable  age,  sent 
round  to  all  the  likely  white  men  in  the  town, 
tricked  out  in  all  the  bravery  common  to  the 
occasion.  She  saw  her  return,  too,  return  in  tears, 
not  because  she  had  been  chosen,  but  because  she 
had  not!  The  standard  of  morals  is  higher  on 
the  coast  in  these  times. 

And  the  end  of  these  women?  No  one  has 
ever  told  us  of  their  end.  I remember  when  I 
was  in  Sekondi  a sad-faced  mulatto  woman  with 
the  remains — only  the  remains — of  great  beauty  about 
her,  though  possibly  she  was  barely  thirty-five,  and 
the  nursing  sister  shook  her  head  over  Adjuah. 

“She  is  going  to  die,”  she  said.  “She  does 
not  care  to  live.”  It  appears  she  had  lived  with 
some  white  man  who  had  been  fond  of  her  as  he 
passed  by,  and  she  had  given  him  her  whole  soul. 
Then  came  the  inevitable,  the  time  when  he 
departed  for  Accra,  and  Adjuah  was  distracted. 
She  could  not  believe  he  had  left  her  for  ever, 
and  she,  too,  started  along  the  coast  for  the  distant 
town.  Like  many  another  loving  woman  she  felt 
if  he  could  only  see  her  all  would  be  well.  But 
barely  a day's  journey  along  the  coast  came  the 
great  Prah  river,  and  it  passed  her  powers  to 
cross  it.  She  waited  there  for  days,  and  then, 
reluctantly,  all  along  the  burning  sands  she  crawled 
back  wearily  to  the  shelter  of  the  woman  she 
knew  would  care  for  her,  and  there  she  waited 
listlessly — to  die.  Is  that  what  happened  to  these 
little  girls  flaunting  it  so  proudly  in  their  silken 
clothes  ? Indeed,  worse  things  might  happen  to 
them.  Possibly  they  were  sold  as  slaves;  most 
surely  their  children  were,  for  it  is  said  in  Jamaica 
that  every  overseer  and  book-keeper  took  a mistress 


THE  SLAVER  AND  THE  MULATTO  GIRL  89 

from  among  the  slaves,  a girl  who  came  to  him 
gladly  for  the  betterment  of  her  lot,  but  she  knew 
and  he  knew  that  their  children  must  be  born 
into  servitude,  and  the  father,  when  the  time  came 
for  him  to  go,  left  them  as  lightly  as  he  would 
so  many  cattle. 

Spear,  in  his  book  on  the  American  slave  trade, 
tells  how,  in  the  days  when  the  trade  was  being 
suppressed,  the  British  warship  Medina,  on  boarding 
a slaver  off  the  Gallinas  Eiver,  found  no  slaves  on 
board.  “The  officers  learned  afterwards,  however, 
that  her  captain  really  had  had  a mulatto  girl  in  the 
cabin.  He  kept  her  for  some  time  after  the  cruiser 
appeared,  but  seeing  that  he  was  to  be  boarded,  and 
knowing  that  the  presence  of  one  slave  was  enough 
to  condemn  the  ship,  he  tied  her  to  a kedge  anchor 
and  dropped  her  into  the  sea.  And  so,  as  is 
believed,  he  drowned  his  own  unborn  flesh  and 
blood,  as  well  as  the  slave  girl.”  Think  of  the 
state  of  public  opinion  when  a whole  crew  could 
stand  calmly  by,  or  even  give  a hand  to  perpetrate 
such  an  atrocious  deed.  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  on 
any  land  where  was  such  slavery  as  this,  there  seems 
to  have  fallen  a curse ; less  favoured  lands  have 
flourished,  but  gorgeous  tropical  countries,  where 
vegetation  runs  riot,  have  not  kept  abreast  in  the 
race.  Surely  those  unconscious  little  girls,  un- 
conscious of  their  own  woes,  sometimes  the  pampered 
slave,  bound  to  be  the  out-cast  slave  in  the  end, 
have  brought  a curse  upon  them.  It  broods  over 
Africa.  It  is  here  in  Jamaica,  it  will  take  much 
wisdom  and  many  many  years  to  work  it  off. 

Of  course  it  was  not  only  the  women  who  suffered. 
Slavery  was  the  custom  of  the  time,  and  men  and 
women  alike  were  chattels.  It  was  the  pitiful 
pretence  to  place  and  power  that  makes  us  feel 


90  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


more  keenly  the  case  of  these  little  girls  who  were 
wives  and  yet  no  wives,  and  gained  honour  for  a 
brief  season  by  being  associated  with  the  white  men. 

And  in  Annamabu  came  home  to  me  clearly,  the 
cargoes,  the  thrice-accursed  cargoes  these  men  had 
set  their  hearts  upon,  the  cargoes  that  were  the 
raison  detre  of  these  heavily  armed  castles.  In 
Phillips’  day  a really  good  negro  might  be  bought 
on  the  Coast  at  a cost  of  about  £4  for  the  most 
expensive,  while  he  might  be  sold  for  about  £19  in 
Jamaica  or  Barbadoes. 

‘‘I  had  two  little  negro  boys  presented  to  me 
here,”  says  he  with  a certain  satisfaction,  ‘‘by  our 
honest  factors,  and  two  more  at  Cape  Corso.” 
Nobody  considered  the  feelings  of  the  boys  torn  from 
their  homes.  And  well  might  he  be  pleased,  for 
these  presumably  were  his  private  property,  and  not 
to  be  accounted  among  the  cargo.  When  Ansumanah, 
my  own  serving  boy,  sat  in  the  shade  at  the  bottom 
of  the  flight  of  stairs  that  led  up  to  the  bastion, 
I remembered  Phillips’  two  little  boys  who  had 
attended  their  master  here.  The  stone  steps  are 
worn,  worn  in  the  years  by  the  passing  of  many 
unshod  feet,  sad  and  glad  and  hopeful  and  despairing, 
but  what  had  the  little  boys  that  Phillips  was 
taking  to  the  Indies  to  hope  for  ? 

Exactly  at  Annamabu  he  did  not  gather  his  slaves, 
but  a little  farther  along  the  Coast.  Here  he  took 
on  board  180  chests  of  corn  with  which  to  feed 
them.  The  little  squat  ship  having  laid  in  her 
provisions,  went  slowly  along  the  coast,  and  in  the 
daylight  the  people  came  off  in  their  canoes,  and 
at  night  they  lighted  fires  along  the  shore  as  a sign 
they  had  something  to  trade,  and  their  trade  goods 
were  always  the  same,  gold,  elephants’  teeth,  that 
is,  ivory,  or  men,  and  generally  they  required  the 


A PLEDGE  OF  FRIENDSHIP 


91 


captain  to  come  down  over  the  side  of  his  ship  and 
drop  three  drops  of  sea  water  in  his  eye  as  a pledge 
of  friendship  and  of  safety  for  them  to  come  aboard, 
‘"which”  says  Phillips,  “I  very  readily  consented  to 
and  performed  in  hopes  of  a good  market.” 

Sometimes  he  got  ivory,  but  his  ship  was  a slaver, 
slaves  she  was  looking  for  and  slaves  she  would  get, 
for  might  was  right  and  wars  were  perpetually 
waged — by  the  black  men  be  it  understood — in  order 
that  there  might  be  plenty  of  the  commodity.  The 
commodity,  being  flesh  and  blood,  suffered. 

“ The  master  of  her  brought  in  three  women  and 
four  children  to  sell,”  he  remarks  casually  of  a canoe 
that  hailed  him  from  the  shore,  “but  he  asked  very 
dear  for  them  and  they  were  almost  dead  from 
want  of  victuals,  looking  like  mere  skeletons  and  so 
weak  they  could  not  stand,  so  that  they  were  not 
worth  buying.  He  promised  to  procure  us  two 
or  three  hundred  slaves  if  we  would  anchor  and 
come  ashore  and  stay  two  or  three  days,  but,  judging 
what  the  others  might  be  by  the  sample  he  brought 
us,  and  being  loth  to  venture  ashore  upon  his  bare 
word,  where  we  did  not  use  to  trade  and  had  no 
factory,  we  sent  him  away  and  resumed  our  voyage.” 
He  has  left  us  a very  graphic  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  and  the  captain  of  the  East 
Indian  Merchant  bought  their  wares.  The  slaves 
were  evidently  got  in  small  parcels,  secured  in  the 
factories  and  shipped  off  on  calm  days,  for  the  surf 
of  the  Guinea  Coast  would  not  always  allow  of  a 
landing.  Where  they  kept  them  at  Annamabu  or 
in  the  dominant  factory  at  Koromantyn,  I do  not 
know,  probably  in  the  court-yard  or  in  the  dark 
dungeons,  dark  and  hot  and  airless  that  surrounded 
it,  and  the  reek  of  them  must  have  gone  up  to 
heaven,  calling  down  a curse  upon  those  captors 


92  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


who  were  apparently  so  unconscious  of  wrongdoing. 
At  Whidah,  to  which  Phillips  traded  from  Annamabu, 
it  is  not  very  far  away,  there  was  only  a small 
factory,  and  the  local  chief  or  “king’'  collected  the 
slaves  for  sale  and  kept  them  in  a “trunk,”  which 
Phillips  and  the  captain  of  the  East  Indian  Merchant, 
attended  by  their  respective  doctors  and  pursers, 
visited  daily  to  make  their  pm’chases. 

The  purser’s  business  was  to  pay  for  the  goods 
I suppose,  and  the  surgeon  he  considers  absolutely 
necessary. 

“Our  surgeon  examined  them  well  in  all  kinds 
to  see  that  they  were  sound,  wind  and  limb,  making 
them  jump,  stretch  out  their  arms  swiftly,  looking 
in  their  mouths  to  judge  of  their  age ; for  the 
cappashiers  are  so  cunning  that  they  shave  them  all 
close  before  we  see  them,  so  that,  let  them  be  never 
so  old,  we  can  see  no  grey  hairs  in  their  heads  or 
beards,  and  then,  having  liquored  them  well  and 
sleek  with  palm  oil,  ’tis  no  easy  matter  to  know 
an  old  one  from  a middle-aged  one  but  by  the 
teeth’s  decay  . . . therefore  our  surgeon  is  forced  to 
examine  . . . both  men  and  women  with  the  nicest 
scrutiny  which  is  a great  slavery  but  can’t  be  omitted.” 

“ This  place  where  the  slaves  were  kept  day  and 
night,”  he  records,  putting  the  matter  very  plainly, 
“was  so  foul  that  I often  fainted  with  the  horrid 
stink  of  the  negroes.”  And  he  was  a hard-bitten 
sailor  of  the  seventeenth  century  accustomed  to  the 
close  evil-smelling  ships  of  his  period ! But  he  has 
no  particular  word  of  pity  for  the  closely-herded 
negroes  whose  condition  produced  such  a state  of 
affairs. 

“We  marked  the  slaves  we  had  bought  in  the 
breast  or  shoulder  with  a hot  iron  having  the  letter 
of  the  ship’s  name  upon  it,  the  place  being  before 


THE  WILFUL  NEGROES 


93 


anointed  with  a little  palm  oil  which  caused  but 
little  pain,  the  mark  being  usually  well  in  four  or 
five  days,  appearing  very  plain  and  white  after.” 
And  this  is  an  allegory  surely.  The  mark  that 
slavery  made  has  always  appeared  very  plain  after. 

And  when  the  surf  allowed,  the  slaves  were 
marched  down  to  the  shore  and  “our  canoes  carry 
them  off  to  the  long  boat,  and  she  conveyed  them 
aboard  ship  where  the  men  were  all  put  in  irons 
two  and  two,  shackled  together,  to  prevent  their 
mutiny  or  swimming  ashore.” 

“ The  negroes  are  so  wilful  and  loth  to  leave  their 
own  country,”  he  records  mournfully  as  a man  who 
may  expect  sympathy,  “that  they  have  often  leaped 
out  of  the  canoe,  boat,  and  ship,  into  the  sea,  and 
kept  under  water  till  they  were  drowned,  to  avoid 
being  taken  up  and  saved  by  our  boats  which  pursued 
them,  they  having  a more  dreadful  apprehension  of 
Barbadoes  than  we  can  have  of  hell,  tho’  in  reality 
they  live  much  better  there  than  in  their  own 
country.”  The  shackling  as  an  introduction  to  this 
improved  home  life  was  perhaps  not  calculated  to 
inspire  confidence.  “But  home  is  home,”  moralises 
Phillips.  “We  have  likewise  seen  divers  of  them 
eaten  by  sharks,  of  which  a prodigious  number  kept 
about  the  ships  in  this  place.  We  had  about  twelve 
negroes  did  wilfully  drown  themselves,  and  others 
starved  themselves  to  death,  for  'tis  their  belief  that 
when  they  die  they  return  home  to  their  own  country 
and  friends  again.  I have  been  informed  that  some 
commanders  have  cut  off  the  legs  of  the  most  wilful 
to  terrify  the  rest,  for  they  believe  if  they  lose  a 
member  they  cannot  return  home  again.  I was 
advised  by  some  of  my  officers  to  do  the  same,  but 
I could  not  be  persuaded  to  entertain  the  least 
thoughts  of  it,  much  less  to  put  in  practice  such 


94  THE  CASTLES  ON  THE  GUINEA  COAST 


barbarous  cruelty  to  poor  creatures  who,  excepting 
their  want  of  Christianity,  true  religion  (their  mis- 
fortune, more  than  fault)  are  as  much  the  works 
of  God’s  Hands  and  no  doubt  as  dear  to  Him  as 
ourselves.”  Surprising  words  from  a slaver ! 

He  himself  has  but  a poor  opinion  of  the  men 
of  his  calling. 

'‘They  commonly  undermine,  betray,  and  outbid 
one  another,”  he  writes,  "and  the  Guiney  com- 
manders’ words  and  promises  are  the  least  to  be 
depended  upon  of  any  I know  use  the  sea,  for  they 
would  deceive  their  fathers  in  their  trade  if  they 
could.” 

And  then  when  the  slaves  were  on  board,  and 
the  grey  castles  were  down  on  the  horizon,  and  the 
long,  long  voyage  was  begun,  there  were  troubles  not 
only  for  the  wretched  merchandise,  but  for  those 
who  carried  them. 

"When  our  slaves  are  aboard,”  he  says  again, 
"we  shackle  them  two  and  two  while  we  lie  in 
port,  and  in  sight  of  their  own  country,  for  ’tis  then 
they  attempt  to  make  their  escape  or  mutiny,  to 
prevent  which  we  always  keep  sentinels  upon  the 
hatchways,  and  have  a chest  of  small  arms  ready 
loaden  and  trim’d,  constantly  lying  at  hand  upon 
the  quarterdeck  together  with  some  granada  shells, 
and  two  of  our  quarterdeck  guns  pointing  on  the 
deck  thence,  and  two  more  out  of  the  steerage,  the 
door  of  which  is  always  kept  shut  and  well  barred. 

" They  are  fed  twice  a day,  at  10  in  the  morning, 
and  4 in  the  evening,  which  is  the  time  they  are 
apt  to  mutiny,  being  all  upon  the  deck ; therefore,  all 
that  time  what  of  our  men  who  are  not  employed 
in  distributing  their  victuals  to  them  and  settling 
them,  stand  to  their  arms  with  lighted  matches  at 
the  great  guns  that  yawn  upon  them,  loaden  with 


95 


LORD,  THE  TRUMPETER 

cartridge,  till  they  have  done  and  gone  below  to 
their  kennels  between  decks.” 

What  a picture  of  life  aboard  a slaver ! 

''Great  mortality  among  the  slaves,”  he  writes 
wearily  later  on,  "which  together  with  their  stink 
and  nastiness  ” — and  he  goes  on  feelingly  to  tell  of 
a Dutch  skipper.  Clause,  who  said  if  his  owners 
would  give  him  £100  per  month  to  go  and  carry 
negroes  again,  he  would  not  take  it,  but  would  sooner 
go  elsewhere  a common  sailor,  for  20  guilders  a 
month. 

No  wonder.  Out  of  700  taken  on  board  the 
Hannibal  some  died  every  day,  and  by  the  time 
they  reached  Barbadoes  they  had  thrown  overboard 
320  of  them,  and  all  the  comment  her  master  makes 
is  that  it  was  a clear  loss  to  the  owners,  the  African 
Company,  of  £10  for  every  negro  that  so  died. 

But  there  is  another  tWg  he  notices  with  intense 
surprise.  He  was  "forced  to  clap  one  Lord,  the 
trumpeter,  in  irons,  for  his  being  the  promoter  of 
unseasonable  carousing  bouts,”  we  can  understand 
it  would  never  have  done  for  the  crew  to  indulge 
in  such  bouts  with  such  a cargo,  "and  though  he 
remained  upon  the  poop  day  and  night  in  irons  for 
two  months,  without  any  other  shelter  than  the 
canopy  of  heaven,  he  was  never  troubled  with  any 
sickness,  but  made  good  the  proverb  that  'Naught’s 
never  in  danger.’”  And  while  he  goes  on  com- 
plaining of  enduring  so  "much  misery  and  stench 
among  a parcel  of  creatures  nastier  than  swine,”  it 
never  occurs  to  him,  or  to  anybody  else  for  that 
matter,  for  many  a long  day,  that  he  had  provided 
his  recreant  trumpeter  with  at  least  one  safeguard 
in  plenty  of  air. 

Three  hundred  and  twenty  negroes  murdered  on 
that  voyage  alone.  No  wonder  " Ichabod  ” is  written 


96  THE  CASTLES  OS  THE  GUINEA  COAST 

over  those  old  castles.  KoromantTn  that  was  once 
the  chief  stronghold,  head  castle  of  the  English,  is 
no  more,  its  guns  are  red  with  rust,  its  walls  are 
crumbling  to  ruin,  its  courtyards  are  desolate  and 
grass-grown,  and  the  people  from  the  neighbouring 
villages  go  there  when  they  want  shaped  stones. 
Annamabu  still  stands  a model  of  what  these  castles 
used  to  be — with  the  exception  of  Elmina,  the  best 
model  and  best  preserved  along  the  300  miles  of 
coast.  Cape  Coast  has  been  used  for  many  purposes, 
but  no  white  man  can  live  there,  because  no  servant 
will  stay  there,  they  declare  it  is  haunted.  Well  it 
might  be,  for  the  dungeons  are  deep  and  dark,  and 
assuredly  they  have  been  used.  Kommenda  is  a 
shell,  and  no  native  will  go  into  the  courtyard  where 
the  bush  is  beginning  to  grow  up  because  there  is 
ju-ju  upon  it,  and  the  evil  spirits  make  it  their  home. 
At  Annamabu,  as  I sat  at  luncheon,  there  came  up 
a quick  tropical  storm.  The  roar  of  the  wind  hushed 
the  sound  of  the  ceaseless  surf,  the  coconut  palms 
bent  before  it,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents. 
It  blotted  out  the  sea,  it  swept  off  the  bastion  in 
streams,  it  beat  down  the  breakers,  and  like  a grey 
mist  it  shut  out  the  surrounding  landscape. 

“You  stop  here,  Ma,*'  said  my  head  man  with  a 
satisfaction  he  did  not  conceal. 

Stop  there?  With  all  the  ghosts  of  the  past? 
Would  not  the  mulatto  girl,  who  was  the  factor’s 
wife,  come  back  and  walk  along  this  bastion,  as 
she  must  have  done  more  than  two  hundred  years 
ago  ? Would  she  be  sad  ? Or  glad  ? Or  proud  ? 
Would  not  the  men  and  women  who  had  been  driven 
so  unwillingly  through  that  long-tunnelled  entrance, 
been  shut  up  in  those  dark  dungeons  on  the  ground 
floor,  come  back  mourning  and  wailing  ? Would 
not  the  white  man,  who  had  looked  out  over  the  sea 


LINK  BETWEEN  JAMAICA  AND  GUINEA  COAST  97 

with  longing  eyes,  come  tramping  those  stones  again, 
heedless  of  dark  mistress  or  coffers  slowly  piling 
with  gold,  counting  the  days,  as  he  had  counted  them 
so  often,  when  in  his  own  pleasant  land  again  he 
would  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  labour?  Stay?  No,  a 
thousand  times,  no,  no.  And  the  tropical  storm 
passed,  the  golden  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun  fell 
through  the  slanting  rain  drops,  and  then  the  rain 
stopped  and  a mist  rose  up  from  the  wet  stones,  and 
the  sea  lay  blue,  reflecting  the  blue  sky  above,  and  I 
went  down  the  steps  and  into  the  tunnel,  and  out 
of  the  courtyard  and  away  along  the  sea-shore  past 
Koromantyn,  and  only  in  Jamaica  did  I realise  that 
by  the  merest  chance,  I had  seen  and  appreciated  the 
beginnings  of  the  iniquitous  Middle  Passage,  that  I 
had  come  upon  the  place  whence  came  all  the  slaves 
who  led  the  insurrections  in  that  island  for  close  on 
two  hundred  years. 

I have  wandered  in  my  life,  far  and  wide,  east 
and  west,  but  that  remote  castle  on  the  Guinea  Coast 
made  a far  deeper  impression  than  many  a more 
important  place. 


CHAPTEE  V 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 

All  up  and  down  the  roads  of  Jamaica  tramp 
ceaselessly  the  dark  people.  In  the  towns  now,  I 
notice  many  of  the  men,  when  they  have  anything  to 
carry,  carry  it  in  their  hands,  under  their  arms,  or  on 
their  backs,  but  the  women  are  not  so  progressive. 
I don’t  quite  believe  the  yarn  about  the  girl,  who, 
having  been  sent  to  buy  a postage  stamp,  put  it  on 
her  head,  with  a stone  to  keep  it  in  place,  but, 
certainly,  the  women  still  adhere  to  the  old  African 
way  of  bearing  a burden  on  their  heads.  From  my 
verandah  all  day,  and  twenty  times  a day,  I could 
see  men  arranging  the  load  on  their  companion’s 
head,  and  the  woman  accepting  the  help  offered,  and 
trotting  along  meekly  behind  the  man,  though  he 
went  empty-handed. 

Men  and  women  are  in  all  shades,  but  mostly,  of 
course,  black,  often  with  the  woolly  hair  and  thick 
coarse  lips,  that  are  considered  typical  of  the  negro. 
They  are  not.  They  are  typical  of  men  with  low 
ideals.  I have  seen  black  men  with  faces  as  fine  as 
the  best  Europeans,  and  I am  sure  that  the  features 
of  a man’s  face  are  apt  to  be  altered  by  his  mode 
of  life  and  his  thoughts.  Of  course,  it  is  his  thoughts 
that  do  it,  but  his  thoughts  are  produced  by  his 
environment.  He  is  a wonderful  man  who  is  able  to 
rise  above  the  degrading  environment  forced  upon 


[Face  -page  9S. 


Going  to  Market. 


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MONTESQUIEU  ON  SLAVERY  99 

him  by  circumstances.  Up  to  the  present  the  negro 
has  been  handicapped,  and  when  I see  a black  man 
with  a fine  face,  in  my  mind,  I make  him  obeisance. 
He  has  come  up  a long  way,  far,  far  farther  than 
his  white  prototype. 

And  his  unwilling  forebears  were  brought  to 
Jamaica  by  the  accursed  Middle  Passage. 

It  was  so  called  because  a ship  went  from 
England  or  America  to  the  Guinea  Coast,  thence  to 
the  West  Indies  or  wherever  there  was  a market  for 
slaves,  which  was  seldom  at  her  home  port,  and 
thence  back  empty  to  refit.  Hence  the  Middle 
Passage,  a term  which,  before  I investigated  the 
matter,  always  puzzled  me. 

The  horrors  of  the  Middle  Passage  were  of  no 
account  to  the  men  who  did  the  trading.  It  was 
an  uncomfortable  job,  as  the  Dutch  Skipper  Clause 
found,  but  there  was  money  in  it,  men  were  not 
very  tender  even  of  each  other  in  olden  days,  and 
they  counted  as  little  the  pains  suffered  by  the 
luckless  people  whom  they  held  in  bondage.  Says 
Montesquieu,  who  was  before  his  time,  “Slavery  is 
not  good  in  itself.  It  is  useful  neither  to  the  master 
nor  the  slave.  Not  to  the  slave  because  he  can 
do  nothing  from  virtuous  motives.  Not  to  the  master, 
because  he  contracts  among  his  slaves  all  sorts  of 
bad  habits,  and  accustoms  himself  to  the  neglect  of 
all  the  moral  virtues.  He  becomes  haughty, 
passionate,  obdurate,  vindictive,  voluptuous,  and 
cruel.”  He  might  have  added  that  the  men  who 
made  the  slaves  held  a still  worse  position.  Once 
we  begin  to  investigate,  we  find  that  the  captains 
of  the  slavers  were  almost  invariably  ruthlessly  cruel. 

Not  quite  all.  There  is  mention  made  in  the 
American  Historical  Record  of  David  Lindsay,  who 
in  1740  was  trading  on  the  Guinea  Coast.  Here 


100 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


is  a letter  written  by  one  George  Scott,  who  meeting 
Captain  Lindsay  at  sea  on  the  13th  June  1740, 
entrusts  him  with  this  letter  and  all  his  gold.  He 
says  he  left  Annamabu  on  the  8th  May,  and  he  had 
only  reached  39‘30°W.  No  wonder  he  reports  that 
his  voyage  is  miserable,  and  he  has  lost  twenty-nine 
slaves  out  of  a cargo  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine.  The  surprising  thing  is  that  he  can  report 
that  “the  slaves  we  have  now  is  all  recovered.” 
The  ships  were  tiny.  David  Lindsay,  according 
to  Spear,  was  in  1752  in  command  of  the  brigantine 
Sanderson,  “a  square  stern’d  vessel  of  the  burthen  of 
about  40  tons.”  What  a cockle  shell ! and  he,  too, 
writes  from  “Anamaboe,  28th  February  1753.  . . . 
The  traid  is  so  dull,  it  is  actually  a noof  to  make  a 
man  creasey.”  He  has  been  obliged  to  buy  a cable, 
and  he  begs  his  owners  “not  to  Blaim  me  in  so 
doeing.  I should  be  glad  I cood  come  Eite  home 
with  my  slaves,  for  my  vesiel  will  not  last  to  proceed 
farr.  We  can  see  daylight  al  round  her  bow  under 
deck.  However,  I hope  She  will  carry  me  safe 
home  once  more.  I need  not  inlarge.”  So  he,  too, 
lay  outside  the  surf  at  Annamabu,  he,  too,  walked  on 
the  bastion  and  discussed  with  the  factors  his 
chances.  Oh,  they  were  plucky  men  those  first 
slavers,  if  they  were  brutes,  but  Lindsay  I do  not 
think  was  a brute.  And  on  that  last  day  of  February 
1753,  there  must  have  been  quite  a fleet  of  slavers. 
“Heare  lyes  Captains  hamlet,  James  Jepson, 
Carpenter,  Butler,  & Lindsay.  Gardner  is  dun.” 
“ firginson,”  he  goes  on  with  a pleasant  disregard  of 
the  uses  of  capitals,  “ is  Gon  to  Leward.  All  these  is 
Eum  ships.  . . . I’ve  sent  a Small  boy  to  my  wife. 
I conclude  with  my'  best  Endeavors  for  Intrust. 
Gentlemen,  your  faithful  Servant  at  Comind,  Da'sdd 
Lindsay. 


GRAPHIC  LETTERS 


101 


N.B. — -On  the  whole  I never  had  so  much 
Trouble  in  all  my  voiges.  I shall  rite  to  barbadoes 
in  a few  days.”  A pleasant  letter  to  come  down  to 
us  out  of  the  years  and  written  by  a slaver  too ! 
His  officers  were  sick  and  so  were  three  of  the 
men  in  the  forecastle,  and  he  feared  lest  the  slaves 
in  the  hold,  learning  how  short-handed  he  was,  might 
rise  up  and  make  a bid  for  their  freedom,  but  worse 
than  all  was  the  leaky  condition  of  the  ship.  Well 
for  her  that  she  sailed  in  sunny  seas,  in  the  season 
when  hurricanes  were  hardly  to  be  feared,  but  I 
felt  a thrill  of  triumph  when  on  the  17th  June  of 
the  same  year  he  was  able  to  write  from  Barbadoes, 

‘‘  Gentle’n  : — These  are  to  acqt  of  my  arrival  heare 
ye  Day  before  yesterday  in  10  weeks  from  Anamaboe. 
I met  on  my  passage  22  days  of  very  squally  winds 
& continued  Rains,  so  that  it  beat  my  sails  alto 
pieces,  soe  that  I was  oblige  Several  Days  to  have 
Sails  on  bent  to  mend  them.  The  vesiel  likewise 
is  all  open  Round  her  bows  under  deck.  . . . My 
slaves  is  not  landed  yet ; they  are  58  in  number  for 
owners,  all  in  helth  & fatt.  I lost  one  small  gall.” 
The  health  of  the  slaves  does  him  credit  in  so  small 
a ship.  With  my  faith  in  fresh  air  I cannot  help 
wondering  if  some  of  it  was  not  due  to  that  opening 
round  the  ship’s  bows  under  deck. 

After  a few  more  remarks  he  says,  ‘‘  I left 
Captain  Hamblet  at  Cape  Coast  sick.  His  slaves 
had  rose,  and  they  lost  the  best  of  what  they  had.” 
What  happened  to  the  slaves?  The  slave  trade 
is  full  of  such  unfinished  stories. 

There  is  another  letter  from  Annamabu  from  one 
George  Scott.  '‘We  have  now  aboard  one  hundred 
and  no  gold.  I think  to  purchase  about  twenty 
& go  off  ye  coast : ye  time  of  ye  year  [it  was  April], 
don’t  doe  to  tarry  much  longer.  Everything  of 

H 


102 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


provisions  is  very  dear  and  scarce : it  costs  for  water 
Ten  shillings  for  one  day.  I think  to  stay  in  this 
place  but  fourteen  days  more.  We  shall  go  to 
Shama  and  water  our  vessel.” 

Shama  or  Chama  is  another  slave  castle  about 
half  a day’s  journey  from  Sekondi.  Grim  high  walls 
surround  it,  and  the  only  entrance  is  approached  by 
the  wide  steps  in  a half  circle,  steps  that  we  so 
often  see  approaching  the  entrance  to  an  old  house 
in  Jamaica.  At  the  Hyde  there  were  the  same  sort 
of  circular  steps  that  I met  at  Chama,  but  at  Chama 
they  came  up  to  a narrow  entrance  that  two  men, 
in  those  days,  might  hold  for  a week  against  great 
odds. 

This  slaver  goes  on  to  say  he  thinks  he  will  sail 
off  the  coast  from  Chama  with  about  120  slaves 
cargo.  “We  have  left  about  two  hundred  pound 
sterg  in  goods  which  wont  sell  here  to  any  profitt. 
Every  man  slave  that  we  pay  all  Goods  for  here, 
costs  twelve  pounds  sterg  prime.  I hope  I shall 
be  in  Barbadoes  ye  latter  end  of  June  but  have 
not  concluded  whither  we  shall  go  to  Jamaica  or 
Virginia ; our  slaves  is  mostly  large.  60  men  and 
boys,  20  women,  the  rest  boys  and  girls,  but  three 
under  four  foot  high.  Pray  excuse  all  blunders  and 
bad  writing  for  I have  no  time  to  coppy,  the  sloop 
being  under  sail.” 

I like  the  last  touch,  the  slaver  captain  who 
copied  out  his  letters  so  that  they  should  be  neat 
when  he  had  time  and  was  not  ashamed  to  owm  it. 
I hope  he  was  as  careful  of  his  human  cargo. 

The  getting  of  that  cargo  was  not  always  accom- 
plished, as  Phillips  did  it,  by  the  simple  process  of 
going  to  the  “ trunk  ” and  buying  those  he  w^anted. 
Clarkson,  when  he  was  seeking  evidence  to  justify 
the  suppression  of  the  slave  trade,  told  a tale  of 


INIQUITOUS  DOINGS  AT  CALABAR  103 

wicked  treachery  by  white  men,  Englishmen,  I am 
sorry  to  say,  who  found  trade  bad  at  Old  Calabar. 

There  lay  in  the  Kiver  the  ships  Indian  Queen, 
Duke  of  York,  Nancy  and  Concord  of  Bristol,  the 
Edgar  of  Liverpool,  and  the  Canterbury  of  London, 
slavers  all,  and  the  slaves  were  not  coming  in  in 
this  year  1767.  Therefore  they  planned  among  them- 
selves as  coolly  as  if  the  black  men  had  been  deer 
or  elephants,  or  pheasants,  how  they  might  best  fill 
their  between  decks.  The  Calabar  Eiver  is  hot  and 
it  is  unhealthy,  for  the  percentage  of  moisture  in  the 
air  is  so  great  that  very  gladly  I have  sat  over  a 
fire  when  the  thermometer  registered  over  90°  in  the 
shade,  so  that  it  is  hardly  a pleasant  place  of 
residence  for  a white  man.  Also  the  old  inhabitants 
were  not  very  tender  of  each  other,  or  very  careful 
of  human  life,  for  as  I sat  there  watching  a most 
glorious  sunset  a woman,  who  had  come  there  in  the 
early  days,  and  she  was  not  then,  I think,  fifty,  told 
me  how  she  hated  to  walk  along  the  shore^ — the 
Calabar  Biver  is  really  an  arm  of  the  sea — because 
of  the  living  sacrifices,  generally  young  girls  offered 
to  the  envious  gods  and  bound  to  stakes,  waiting 
for  the  tide  to  come  up  and  put  an  end  to  their 
misery.  Still  the  blood-thirstiness  of  the  natives 
does  not  excuse  that  of  the  slavers.  I only  mention 
it  because  I find  that  while  the  advocates  for 
slavery  painted  the  slave  in  the  blackest  colours,  the 
opponents  generally  depicted  the  poor  black  man  as 
a noble  martyr.  He  wasn’t.  He  was  suffering 
humanity  neither  better  nor  worse  than  his  station 
in  life  allowed,  often  rising  to  heights  of  heroism,  but 
often  out-heroding  his  tormentors  in  blackguardism. 

It  happened  there  was  a quarrel  at  that  time 
between  Old  and  New  Calabar,  and  the  captains 
of  the  vessels,  says  Clarkson,  “joined  in  sending 


104 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


several  letters  to  the  inhabitants  of  Old  Town,  but 
particularly  to  Ephraim  E-obin  John  who  was  at  that 
time  a grandee  of  the  place.  The  tenor  of  these 
letters  was  that  they  were  sorry  that  any  jealousy 
or  quarrel  should  subsist  between  the  two  parties ; 
that  if  the  inhabitants  of  Old  Town  would  come 
on  board,  they  would  afford  them  security  and 
protection ; adding  at  the  same  time  that  their 
intention  in  inviting  them  was  that  they  might 
become  mediators  and  thus  heal  their  disputes.  The 
inhabitants  of  Old  Town,  happy  to  find  their  differ- 
ences were  likely  to  be  accommodated,  joyfully  accepted 
the  invitation.  The  three  brothers  of  the  grandee 
just  mentioned,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  Amboe 
Robin  John,  first  entered  their  canoe,  attended  by 
twenty-seven  others,  and  being  followed  by  nine 
canoes,  directed  their  course  to  the  Indian  Queen. 
They  were  dispatched  from  thence  the  next  morning 
to  the  Edgar,  and  afterwards  to  the  Duke  of  York. 

They  went  on  board  the  last  ship,  leaving  their 
canoe  and  attendants  by  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
These,  of  course,  were  important  men.  A chief  on 
the  Coast  now  carries  a silver-headed  stick  as  a 
badge  of  rank,  is  clad  in  the  richest  silken  robe, 
and  is  as  far  above  the  rank  and  file  as  is  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire  above  the  labourer  cleaning 
Piccadilly.  And  these  men  of  rank  being  well 
received  and  feted  on  board  the  slavers,  the  rest  of 
the  canoes  went  with  confidence  to  the  other  ships 
of  the  fleet.  And  then  the  white  brutes  worked 
their  wicked  will.  The  men  on  deck  fired  on  the 
canoe  lying  alongside,  she  filled  and  sank,  and  the 
wretched  attendants  were  either  killed  or  drowned 
or  taken  as  slaves,  while  their  masters,  guests  of 
honour  in  the  white  man’s  saloon,  fared  no  better. 
The  captain,  mates,  and  some  of  the  crew  of  the 


THE  SLAVE  NAMED  ECONG 


105 


Duke  of  York,  armed  with  pistols  and  cutlasses, 
rushed  on  the  unfortunates,  doubtless  sitting  drink- 
ing rum,  and  they  made  for  the  stern  windows ; 
but  they  were  wounded  and  helpless  and  were 
promptly  put  in  irons. 

The  Duke  of  York  having  given  the  signal,  most 
of  the  other  ships  followed  her  example,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  New  Town,  concealed  in  the  mangrove 
swamps  along  the  shore,  where  the  monkeys  play 
and  the  grey  parrots  call,  came  out  of  their  hiding- 
places  and  joined  in  the  ghastly  fray.  And  the  lust 
of  killing  got  hold  of  the  aggressors.  The  ships’ 
boats  were  manned,  and  joined  themselves  to  the 
canoes  from  New  Town.  They  pursued  the  fleeing 
men  from  Old  Calabar,  and  they  apparently  forgot 
the  object  for  which  they  had  lured  these  men  to  the 
ships,  and  killed  at  least  as  many  of  the  men  of  the 
Old  Town  as  they  enslaved. 

And  then  came  a canoe  with  the  principal  men 
from  New  Town  to  the  Duke  of  York,  demanding 
Amboe  Kobin  John,  the  brother  of  the  ‘"grandee” 
of  the  rival  town.  And  Amboe  Eobin  John  pleaded 
pitifully  for  his  life.  He  put  the  palms  of  his  hands 
together  and  beseeched  and  prayed  his  captor  not  so 
to  violate  the  rights  of  hospitality.  But  he  spoke  to 
deaf  ears.  The  captain  of  the  Duke  of  York  only 
wanted  a slave,  and  the  men  of  New  Town  ofi’ered 
him  one,  named  Econg,  in  exchange,  and  they  forced 
their  enemy  into  the  canoe  and  struck  ofi*  his  head, 
and  the  slaver  put  in  his  place  the  man  named  Econg, 
who,  like  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver  traded  so  long 
ago,  was  the  price  of  blood. 

Was  ever  there  a more  atrocious  story  of  treachery  ? 
Nothing  happened  to  those  white  men  whereas  when 
a slave  struck  for  liberty  in  Jamaica — but  I have  told 
this  storj  just  because  presently  I shall  have  occasion 


106 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


to  tell  of  slave  risings  in  Jamaica,  and  if  the  slaves 
were  fiendishly  cruel — and  they  were — nothing  can 
exceed  the  cruelty  of  the  white  men  who  first  brought 
them  hither.  Clarkson  says  that  the  deputy  town- 
clerk  of  Bristol,  Mr  Burges,  said  that  he  only  knew 
of  one  captain  from  the  port  in  the  slave  trade  who 
did  not  deserve  to  be  hanged. 

Perhaps  the  fate  of  those  men  of  Old  Calabar, 
whose  dead  bodies  were  washed  up  on  the  sands 
and  caught  in  the  mangrove  swamps,  was  the  most 
merciful,  for  those  who  were  taken  on  board  the 
ships  truly  had  a terrible  time.  From  the  very 
beginning  the  last  thing  the  slavers  considered  was 
the  comfort  of  the  slaves.  No,  “ comfort  is  the  wrong 
word  to  use,  such  a word  as  comfort  from  the  days 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  to  those  of  Victoria,  was  a word 
not  in  the  language  as  far  as  the  slaves  were  con- 
cerned. No  one  ever  thought  to  see  that  these  men 
and  women,  these  living  beings,  to  put  them  on  the 
very  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder,  were  likely  to  be  free 
from  discomfort,  nay,  free  from  actual  pain.  Spear 
tells  how  he  read  of  “the  new  slaver  built  at  Warren 
in  the  country  of  Bristole  in  the  colony  of  Ehode 
Island,  that  was  three  feet  ten  inches  between  decks,” 
and  Clarkson,  who  went  up  and  down  the  country 
collecting  information  about  the  slavers  and  their 
doings,  tells  us  of  two  little  sloops  which  were  fitting 
out  for  Africa,  the  one  only  of  25  tons  which  was 
said  to  be  destined  to  carry  seventy,  and  the  other  of 
only  11  tons  which  was  to  carry  thirty  slaves,  and 
these  were  not  to  be  used  as  tenders  bringing  small 
parties  down  the  rivers  to  the  bigger  ships,  but  were 
to  sail  for  the  West  Indies  with  the  slaves  themselves, 
and  on  their  arrival,  one  if  not  both,  were  to  be  sold 
as  pleasure  boats.  Then  he  gives  the  dimensions. 
In  the  larger  one  each  slave  “ must  sit  down  all  the 


THE  DIMENSIONS  OF  A SLAVER  107 

voyage,  and  contract  his  limbs  within  the  narrow 
limits  of  3 square  feet,  while  in  the  smaller,  each 
slave  had  4 square  feet  to  sit  in,  but  since  the  height 
between  decks  was  only  2 feet  8 inches,  his  head 
must  touch  the  deck  above.  When  the  matter  was 
investigated  in  Parliament,  it  was  stated  that  if  the 
space  between  decks  in  a slaver  reached  4 feet — 
it  never  seems  to  have  exceeded  5 feet  8 inches — 
they  invariably  put  up  a shelf  to  the  width  of  5 feet, 
so  that  another  layer  of  slaves  might  be  placed  on  top 
of  the  first.  The  men  were  ironed  together  two  and 
two  by  the  ankles,  and  sometimes  their  wrists  were 
handcuffed  together,  and  a chain  usually  fastened  the 
irons  to  ringbolts,  either  on  the  deck  above  or  below. 
The  women  and  children  were  left  unironed,  and  the 
men  were  stowed  forward  and  the  women  aft.  If 
they  could  get  a cargo — and  they  generally  waited 
on  that  sweltering  coast,  rolling  in  the  smT,  until  they 
did — the  slaves  covered  the  entire  deck.”  In  Parlia- 
ment, at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  they  took 
the  dimensions  of  the  slaver  Brookes,  picking  her  at 
haphazard  from  a long  list  of  slavers  given  them. 
They  found  that  if  each  man  was  allowed  6 feet  by 
1 foot  4 inches,  every  woman  5 feet  by  1 foot  4 inches, 
every  boy  5 feet  by  1 foot  2 inches,  and  every  girl 
4 feet  6 inches  by  1 foot,  they  could  stow  in  her  432. 
There  is  a plan  given  in  Clarkson’s  book  with  every 
slave  in  place,  and  you  could  not  put  a pin  between 
them.  Certainly  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  any 
one  to  move  amongst  them,  at  least  I should  have 
said  so.  And  yet  it  w^as  proved  that  on  a previous 
voyage  the  Brookes  had  carried  no  less  than  609 
slaves  I And  the  slaye  ships  were  on  the  coast,  the 
stifling  Guinea  Coast,  from  three  to  ten  months,  and 
from  six  to  ten  weeks  crossing  the  Atlantic.  It  was 
quite  possible  for  a slave  to  be  on  board  in  that 


108 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


ghastly  stinking  slave  deck,  stinking  is  a mild  word 
to  use  for  so  foul  a den,  for  over  a year.  In  this 
place  they  must  stay  for  at  least  sixteen  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four,  when  the  weather  was  bad,  or  even 
when  it  was  wet,  they  were  kept  there  for  days 
together.  Nothing  that  breathed,  it  seems  to  me, 
but  must  have  died  in  such  a place.  It  was  stated 
in  Parliament  that  ‘‘if  the  ship  was  full  their  situation 
was  terribly  distressing.  They  sometimes  drew  their 
breath  with  anxious  and  laborious  efforts,  and  some 
died  of  suffocation.” 

“ Thus  crammed  together  like  herrings  in  a barrel,” 
said  Sir  William  Dolben,  “they  contracted  putrid 
and  fatal  disorders,  so  that  they  who  came  to  inspect 
them,”  (how  could  they  inspect  them  save  by  tramping 
over  them),  “in  the  morning  had  occasionally  to  pick 
dead  slaves  out  of  their  rows,  and  to  unchain  their 
carcases  from  the  bodies  of  their  wretched  fellow 
sufferers  to  whom  they  had  been  fastened.” 

We  do  well  to  remember  too,  that  there  were  no 
sanitary  arrangements  upon  a slave  ship.  All  the 
calls  of  Nature  had  to  be  performed  upon  the  spot 
to  which  the  wretched  beings  were  shackled.  And 
when  they  were  sea  sick 

But  no  words  of  mine  can  convey  the  horror  of  it. 

These  unhappy  people  were  allowed  a pint  of 
water  a day  each,  and  were  fed  twice  a day  upon 
yams  and  horse  beans.  Also,  since  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  they  should  have  exercise  for  their 
health's  sake,  they  were  obliged  after  each  meal  to 
jump  up  and  down,  or  dance  in  their  shackles,  and  if 
they  did  not  do  so — I can  imagine  they  hardly  felt 
inclined  for  that  form  of  amusement — they  were 
whipped  until  they  did,  and  the  same  stimulus  was 
used  to  make  them  sing ! 

And  yet  it  was  possible  to  arrive  at  their  final 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  ZONG 


109 


destination  with  only  the  loss  of  1 or  2 per  cent.,  and 
Captain  Hugh  Crow,  the  one-eyed  slaver  of  Liverpool, 
says  Spear,  by  daily  washings,  good  food,  and  keeping 
them  amused  by  playing  on  musical  instruments,  did 
it,  and  one.  Captain  John  Newton,  returned  thanks 
in  church,  because  he  had  performed  the  voyage  from 
Africa  without  the  loss  of  a single  man. 

But  these  were  in  the  days  when  the  trade  was 
counted,  according  to  John  Newton,  '‘genteel  employ- 
ment,” when  the  rich  ship  owners  of  Liverpool  and 
Bristol  had  no  more  shame  in  owning  slavers  than 
nowadays  they  have  in  taking  passengers  to  America, 
or  trading  to  Sicily  for  oranges  and  wine. 

But  care  such  as  Hugh  Crow  took  was,  I am 
afraid,  rare,  and  terrible  are  the  tales  of  the  utter 
brutality  suffered  in  addition  to  the  overcrowding, 
the  filth  and  the  agonies  of  seasickness  which  already 
was  the  lot  of  the  human  cattle. 

Clarkson  tells  the  story  of  the  ship  Zon^ — 
Captain  Luke  Collingwood,  and  Captain  Luke  Colling- 
wood  seems  to  have  been  a devil  incarnate.  Unluckily, 
he  was  not  the  only  one  in  the  trade. 

On  one  day  early  in  September  1781,  the  Zong 
sailed  from  the  island  of  St  Thomas,  bound  for 
Jamaica,  with  440  slaves  on  board,  and  she  arrived 
off  the  coast  short  of  water.  But  Collingwood 
made  the  mistake  of  thinking  he  was  off  Hayti, 
and  seeing  that  the  slaves  were  sickly,  and  indeed 
had  suffered  much  from  want  of  water,  he  and 
his  mate,  James  Kelsall,  decided  that  since  the 
slaves  were  sickly — sickly  was  probably  a mild 
term  to  use  since  sixty  of  them  had  already  died — 
it  would  be  well  to  jettison  the  cargo,  or  some  of  it. 
For  the  death  rate  had  been  so  great  the  voyage 
was  likely  to  be  unprofitable,  and  if  he  could  prove 
that  some  of  the  cargo  had  been  thrown  overboard 


110 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


to  save  the  rest,  the  underwriters  would  pay  the 
value  of  it,  while  if  these  slaves  died  on  board  the 
ship  would  be  at  the  loss.  They  selected  accordingly 

132  of  the  most  sickly  of  the  slaves.  Fifiv-four 

• % 

of  these  were  there  and  then  thrown  overboard  to 
the  sharks  that  swarmed  round  the  ship,  and  forty- 
two  went  the  same  way  the  next  day,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  next  three  days  the  remaining  twenty- 
six  were  brought  out  of  the  den  below  to  complete 
the  tale  of  the  victims.  Poor,  wretched,  suffering 
creatures!  They  looked  at  the  sea,  at  the  sinister 
fins  appearing  above  the  oily  swell,  and  they  looked 
back  at  their  prison  and  the  pitiless  white  faces 
that  looked  down  upon  them,  and  then  they  made 
their  choice.  Sixteen,  they  say,  were  thrown  over- 
board by  the  officers,  but  the  rest  leaped  into  the 
bloody  sea  where  the  sharks  were  already  fighting 
for  their  meal  and  shared  their  fate. 

The  plea  that  was  set  up  on  behalf  of  this 
atrocious  act  of  wickedness  was  that  the  captain 
discovered,  when  he  made  the  proposal  that  he  had 
only  200  gallons  of  water  on  board,  and  that  he 
had  missed  his  port.  It  was  proved,  however,  in 
answer  to  this  that  no  one  had  been  put  upon 
short  allowance;  and  that  rain  fell  and  continued 
for  three  days  immediately  after  the  second  lot  of 
slaves  had  been  thrown  overboard.  Thev  might 
have  filled  all  their  barrels  and  done  away  with  all 
necessity — if  one  could  call  it  necessity — for  the 
murder  of  the  third  lot.  As  a matter  of  fact  they 
only  troubled  to  fill  six. 

But  the  tmderwriters  refused  to  pay,  and  the 
Solicitor-General  actually  held  that  the  captain  of 
the  ship  had  an  “unquestionable  right”  to  throw 
the  slaves  into  the  sea.  But  not  all  men  agreed 
with  him.  Light  was  coming,  and  Lord  Mansfield, 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  GLORIA 


111 


presiding  in  the  higher  court,  said  that  this  was 
a shocking  case,  and,  in  spite  of  the  law,  decided 
ill  favour  of  the  underwriters.  Still,  nothing 
apparently  was  done  to  the  murderers.  They  went 
scot-free.  But  imagine  the  state  of  public  opinion 
when  such  a case  could  actually  be  brought  before 
the  courts,  when  the  perpetrators  of  such  a crime 
evidently  regarded  themselves  as  agents,  doing  their 
very  best  for  those  who  had  entrusted  their  business 
to  their  charge. 

But  once  the  trade  was  outlawed,  and  the 
vigilant  warships  were  ever  on  the  watch,  life  was 
still  more  cruel  for  the  unfortunate  chattel.  Then, 
to  run  as  many  slaves  as  possible,  and  to  make 
up  for  possible  losses,  the  slaves  were  compelled 
to  lie  on  their  sides,  breast  to  back,  spoon  fashion, 
and  this  when  the  space  between  decks  was  less 
than  two  feet.  When  it  was  as  much  as  two  feet  they 
were  stowed,  says  Spear,  ‘'sitting  up  in  rows,  one 
crowded  into  the  lap  of  another,  with  legs  on  legs 
like  riders  on  a crowded  toboggan.  In  storms  the 
sailors  had  to  put  on  the  hatches,  and  seal  tight 
the  openings  into  the  infernal  cesspool.  It  was 
asserted  by  the  naval  officers  who  were  stationed 
on  the  Coast  to  stop  the  traffic  that  in  certain  states 
of  the  weather  they  could  detect  the  odour  of  a 
slaver  farther  away  than  they  could  see  her  on 
a clear  night.  The  odour  was  often  unmistakable 
at  a distance  of  five  miles  down  the  wind.” 

And  to  what  lengths  these  brutes  might  go  we 
may  see  in  the  case  of  the  Gloria,  given  by  Drake 
in  his  Revelations  of  a Slave  Smuggler,  and  quoted 
by  Spear.  The  sm’geon  tells  the  tale. 

The  Gloria  was  coming  from  the  Cape  Verde 
Islands  in  ballast  when  she  overhauled  a Portuguese 
schooner  with  a full  cargo  of  slaves.  The  captain 


112 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


of  the  Gloria,  as  thorough  a scoundrel  surely  as 
ever  sailed  the  seas,  filled  up  his  men  with  rum, 
attacked  the  schooner,  murdered  her  officers  and 
crew  and  one  passenger,  stole  the  gold,  transferred 
the  slaves  to  his  own  ship  and  scuttled  the  other. 
Dead  men  and  sunken  ships  tell  no  tales,  and  190 
slaves  as  witnesses  counted  as  naught  in  those 
days. 

Then  Ruiz  the  captain,  I’m  glad  he  wasn’t  an 
Englishman,  bought  400  negroes  on  the  Dahomean 
Coast  and  hauled  our  course  for  the  Atlantic 
voyage.  But  this  was  to  be  my  last  trip  in  the 
blood-stained  Gloria,  Hardly  were  we  out  a fort- 
night before  it  was  discovered  that  our  roystering 
crew  had  neglected  to  change  the  sea  water,  which 
had  served  as  our  ballast  in  the  lower  casks,  and 
which  ought  to  have  been  replaced  with  fresh  water 
in  Africa.  We  were  drawing  from  the  last  casks 
before  this  discovery  was  made,  and  the  horror  of 
our  situation  sobered  Captain  Ruiz.  He  gave  orders 
to  hoist  the  precious  remnant  abaft  the  main  grating, 
and  made  me  calculate  how  long  it  would  sustain 
the  crew  and  cargo.  I found  that  half  a gill  a day 
would  hold  out  to  the  Spanish  main ; and  it  was 
decided  that,  in  order  to  save  our  cargo,  we  should 
allow  the  slaves  a half  gill  and  the  crew  a gill  each 
a day.  Then  began  a torture  worse  than  death  to 
the  blacks.  Pent  in  their  close  dungeons,  to  the 
number  of  nearly  five  hundred,  they  suffered  continual 
torment.  Our  crew  and  drivers  were  unwilling  to 
allow  even  the  half  gill  per  diem,  and  quarrelled 
fiercely  over  their  own  stinted  rations.  Our  cargo 
had  been  stowed  on  the  platforms  closer  than  I 
ever  saw  slaves  stowed  before  or  since.  Instead 
of  lowering  buckets  of  water  to  them,  as  was 
customary,  it  became  necessary  to  pour  the  water 


THE  DEATH  MIST 


113 


into  half-pint  measures.  These  farthest  from  the 
gratings  never  got  a drop.  ...  In  a short  time  at 
least  a hundred  men  and  women  were  shackled  to 
dead  partners.” 

It  is  a ghastly  picture.  Perhaps  we  could  not 
expect  any  pity  for  the  sufferings  of  the  ‘‘cargo” 
from  such  a set  of  pirates.  Everyone  who  was  free 
on  board  drank  hard  “as  well  as  myself,”  said  the 
frank  narrator,  and  they  did  not  trouble  to  throw  the 
dead  overboard,  or  presumably  even  to  unshackle 
the  living,  for  the  captain  finding  his  crew  out  of 
hand,  ordered  the  hatches  down,  and  “swore  he 
would  make  the  run  on  our  regular  water  rations, 
and  take  the  chances  of  his  stock.” 

Three  days  those  fiends  continued  their  course, 
drinking  in  plenty,  while  “ the  negroes  suffo- 
cated below.”  And  then  came  retribution  swift 
and  sure. 

“ Euiz  and  four  of  the  men  were  taken  suddenly 
ill  with  a disease  that  baffled  my  medical  knowledge. 
Their  tongues  swelled  and  grew  black;  their  flesh 
turned  yellow,  and  in  six  hours  they  were  dead. 
The  first  mate  went  next,  and  then  three  others  of 
the  crew,  and  a black  driver  whose  body  became 
leprous  with  yellow  spots.  I began  to  notice  a 
strange  fetid  smell  pervading  the  vessel,  and  a low 
heavy  fog  on  deck,  almost  like  steam.  Then  the 
horrid  truth  became  apparent.  Om*  rotting  negroes 
under  hatches  had  generated  the  plague,  and  it  was 
a malaria  or  death  mist  I saw  rising.  At  this  time 
all  our  men  but  three  and  myself  had  been  attacked ; 
and  we  abandoned  the  Gloria  in  her  long  boat,  taking 
the  remnant  of  water,  a sack  of  biscuit,  and  a rum 
beaker,  with  what  gold  dust  and  other  valuables  we 
could  hastily  gather  up.  We  left  nine  of  our  late 
comrades  dead  and  five  dying  on  the  Glorias  deck.” 


114 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


I have  only  read  the  extract  that  Spear  gives  in 
his  book,  but  if  it  is  true — and  it  may  well  be — 
judging  by  what  I have  read  elsewhere — this  ship’s 
surgeon  appears  to  have  been  a pretty  considerable 
villain  himself.  The  “cargo,”  I suppose,  must  have 
been  dead.  It  was  hardly  likely  one  could  have  sur- 
vived so  long  without  water  in  the  tropics,  but  what 
about  the  dying  comrades  he  abandoned  on  the  decks  ? 

As  a matter  of  fact,  the  slavers  themselves  often 
did  so  suffer,  for  it  is  hardly  possible  to  generate 
disease,  live  over  it,  and  escape  scot-free.  One  of 
the  most  ghastly  cases  is  that  of  the  French  slaver 
Rodeur, 

In  the  year  in  which  Queen  Victoria  was  born, 
she  was  on  her  way  to  the  West  Indies  with  162 
slaves,  when  ophthalmia  appeared  among  them. 
Probably  it  was  not  treated  properly,  but  in  any 
case,  crowded  as  they  were  between  decks,  it  was 
bound  to  spread  rapidly,  and  at  last,  the  captain  with 
a view  to  saving  the  majority  repeated  the  horror  of 
the  Zong,  and  threw  thirty-six  of  them,  the  ones 
of  least  value,  I presume,  alive  to  the  sharks.  But 
this  living  sacrifice  did  not  stop  the  disease.  As  it 
was  bound  to,  being  a filth  disease,  it  spread  to  the 
crew,  and  presently  there  was  but  one  man  among 
the  crew  who  could  see.  And  this  one  man  steering, 
and  with  all  the  work  of  the  ship  upon  his  shoulders, 
saw  with  thankfulness  a sail,  and  steered  towards 
her.  But  there  was  something  strange  about  that 
sail.  As  he  approached  the  ship  he  saw  she  was 
drifting  as  if  derelict,  though  men  were  wandering 
about  her  decks.  And  she,  too,  was  a slaver.  On 
the  Rodeur  they  might  liave  known  that  by  the  smell, 
if  custom  liad  not  deadened  in  tliein  tliat  sense.  In 
answer  to  a hail  the  crew  of  the  stranger  came 
crowding  to  the  rail  begging,  praying  for  aid,  and 


FOREDOOMED  TO  FAILURE 


115 


everyone  on  board  that  ship  was  blind.  She  was, 
they  said,  the  Spanish  slaver  Leon,  and  among  their 
slaves,  too,  ophthalmia  had  broken  out,  and  had 
spread  to  the  crew,  and  there  they  lay  rolling  on  the 
Atlantic  helpless. 

But  what  was  the  good  of  prayers  and  cries,  and 
bribes,  and  wild  appeals  for  help.  One  man  who 
could  see  had  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  steer  his 
own  ship  to  port,  for  the  disease  was  creeping  upon 
him,  and  tradition  says  that  he,  too,  went  blind  when 
he  reached  haven,  and  of  the  Spanish  slaver  Leon, 
with  all  her  crew  and  all  her  slaves,  no  man  ever 
heard  again. 

But  the  white  men,  at  least,  took  the  risks  with 
their  eyes  open ; upon  the  blacks,  it  had  been  forced, 
and  no  wonder  the  wretched  cargo  in  their  hopeless 
misery  tried  rebelling,  though  rebellion  meant  death 
to  all  concerned,  and  often,  to  some  who  had 
absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

Take  the  story  told  by  the  surgeon  of  the  slaver 
Little  Pearl,  which  sailed  from  the  Coast  in  1786. 
The  chief  mate  used  to  beat  the  men  slaves  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  One  night  he  heard  a noise  and 
jumped  down  amongst  them  with  a lantern.  On  the 
Broohes  there  wouldn’t  have  been  room  for  a lantern, 
and  I doubt  if  there  was  more  on  the  Little 
Pearl.  Two  of  the  slaves  forced  themselves  out  of 
their  irons,  and  seizing  him,  began  to  strike  him 
with  these,  their  only  weapons.  His  cries  brought 
the  crew  to  his  aid,  we  can  imagine  how  mercilessly 
they  trampled  on  the  slaves  in  that  confined  space  to 
do  it,  and  they  got  him  out,  and  the  “ cargo  ” began 
one  of  those  hopeless  struggles  for  freedom  which 
could  only  end  one  way.  At  least,  as  a rule,  it  did. 
They  were  still  on  the  Coast,  and  the  thought  that 
they  were  near  their  homes,  probably  gave  added 


116 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


vigour  to  the  arms  of  those  who  fought.  The  crew 
fired  down  upon  them,  careless  of  whom  they  might 
hurt.  In  truth,  there  was  hardly  anything  else  they 
could  do,  for,  if  the  slaves  got  the  upper  hand, 
it  would  have  been  ‘‘Good-night,”  as  far  as  the 
white  men  were  concerned.  Next  morning  they 
were  brought  up  one  by  one,  and  then  it  was  found 
a boy  had  been  killed.  Only  the  two  men  who  had 
first  broken  their  bonds  did  not  come  with  the  others. 
They  found  their  way  into  the  hold,  and  armed  them- 
selves with  knives  from  a cask  that  had  been  opened 
for  trade.  Oh,  the  forlorn  hope  ! If  they  had  been 
white  men  someone  would  have  enthused  over  their 
pluck  and  valour,  but  they  were  only  two  negro 
slaves.  One  was  persuaded  to  come  up  by  a negro 
trader  calling  to  him  in  his  own  tongue,  and  the 
moment  he  appeared  on  deck,  one  of  the  crew, 
“supposing  him  to  be  yet  hostile,”  shot  him  dead. 
The  other  held  that  hold  for  twelve  hours ! They 
mixed  scalding  water  with  fat  and  poured  it  down 
upon  him  to  make  him  come  up,  but,  “though  his 
flesh  was  painfully  blistered,”  by  these  means  he  kept 
below.  A promise  was  then  made  to  him  in  the 
African  tongue  by  the  same  trader  that  no  injury 
should  be  done  him  if  he  would  come  amongst  them. 
To  this  at  length  he  consented.  But,  on  observing 
when  he  was  about  half  way  up  that  a sailor  was 
armed  between  decks,  he  flew  to  him  and  threw  him 
down.  The  sailor  fired  his  pistol  in  the  scuffle,  but, 
without  effect ; he  contrived,  however,  to  fracture  his 
skull  with  the  butt  end  of  it,  so  that  the  slave  died 
on  the  third  day.  Mercifully.  Though  we  are  left 
in  the  dark  as  to  liis  sufferings  before  he  died,  but  we 
may  judge  of  them  by  the  way  the  same  men  treated 
a boy  when  they  arrived  at  their  destination  in  the 
West  Indies. 


A SICK  SLAVE 


IIT 

There  was  a boy  slave  on  board,  says  Clarkson, 
who  was  very  ill  and  emaciated.  Now  the  rule  in 
slavers  was  that  each  officer  of  the  ship  was  allowed 
one  or  more  slaves  for  his  own  benefit,  according  to 
his  rank.  But  the  slaves  were  not  given  to  them. 
When  they  were  sold,  the  total  amount  brought  in 
was  added  together  and  then  divided  by  the  number 
of  slaves  sold,  and  in  that  way  each  officer  took  his 
share  in  money.  Therefore,  if  a slave  were  sold  for 
a trifling  amount,  he  brought  down  the  value  of  the 
officers’  slaves.  The  chief  mate  objected  to  this  boy 
being  sold.  He  would  only  bring  down  the  average. 
His  objection  was  allowed.  It  was  a natural  one. 
Therefore,  the  boy  was  kept  on  board,  and  not 
exposed  for  sale,  but  no  provisions  were  allowed  him, 
and  the  mate  suggested  he  should  be  thrown  over- 
board. No  one  would  do  this,  however,  though  they 
could  quite  easily  watch  him  starving  to  death  before 
their  eyes.  And  starve  he  did,  and  on  the  ninth 
day  died,  “ having  never  been  allowed  any  sustenance 
during  that  time.”  And  this  in  a tropical  island 
where  the  fruits  of  the  earth  could  be  bought  for  the 
merest  trifle.  It  seems  impossible  that  men  should 
have  been  so  fiendishly  cruel,  but  the  evidence  is 
overwhelming.  The  times  were  hard,  and  we  know 
that  Wiiberforce,  who  championed  so  well  the  slave, 
turned  a deaf  ear  to  the  sufferings  of  the  British 
labourer.  Still,  two  wrongs  do  not  make  a right,  and, 
without  doubt,  the  black  people  stolen  away  for 
slaves  were  treated  by  many  with  a whole-hearted 
callousness  that  is  hard  to  believe  in  these  times. 

They  had  all  sorts  of  means  of  coercion.  Clarkson 
found  openly  exposed  for  sale,  in  a shop  in  Liverpool, 
the  handcuffs  and  the  leg  irons  with  which  one  slave 
was  shackled  to  another,  also  a thumbscrew,  and  an 
instrument  like  a brutal  pair  of  scissors  with  screws 

I 


118 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


at  the  end  instead  of  looped  handles.  This  was 
pushed  in  a mouth  obstinately  kept  shut,  tearing 
lips  and  breaking  teeth,  then  forcibly  opened  and 
kept  open  with  a screw,  so  that  the  unfortunate  who 
wished  to  end  his  miseries  by  starvation  might  be  fed. 

That  this  was  used  fairly  often  there  is  no  doubt. 
There  is  the  testimony  of  Captain  Frazer,  accounted 
one  of  the  most  humane  men  in  the  trade.  It  had 
been  said  of  him  that  he  had  held  hot  coals  to  the 
mouth  of  a recalcitrant  slave  to  compel  him  to  eat. 
He  was  questioned  on  this  point  but  he  denied  it, 
and  presently — I am  telling  the  tale  as  the  great 
abolitionist  told  it — the  true  story  came  out. 

“Being  sick  in  my  cabin,  I was  informed  that  a 
man  slave  would  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  speak.  I 
desired  the  mate  and  surgeon  to  try  and  persuade 
him  to  speak.  I desired  that  the  slaves  might  try 
also.  When  I found  he  was  still  obstinate,  not 
knowing  whether  it  was  from  sulkiness  or  insanity, 
I ordered  a person  to  present  him  with  a piece  of 
fire  in  one  hand  and  a piece  of  yam  in  the  other, 
and  to  tell  me  what  eflPect  this  had  upon  him.  I 
learned  that  he  took  the  yam  and  began  to  eat  it, 
but  he  threw  the  fire  overboard.’' 

These  were  the  tender  mercies  of  the  kind.  Few 
slaves  could  expect  so  much  consideration. 

There  was  a slave  ship  once  struck  on  Morant 
Keys,  not  far  from  the  east  end  of  Jamaica — again 
I get  my  information  from  Clarkson.  The  crew, 
taking  care  of  their  own  skins,  landed  in  their  boats 
with  arms  and  provisions,  and  with  incredible  brutality 
— save  that  nothing  a slaver  did  would  now  strike 
me  as  incredible — left  the  slaves  on  board  still  in 
their  irons.  This  was  in  the  night ; and  when  morning 
broke  they  saw  that  the  slaves,  who  must  have  been 
capable  men,  had  not  only  managed  to  get  free,  but 


FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM 


119 


were  busy  making  rafts  on  which  they  placed  the 
women  and  children,  swimming  themselves  beside 
the  rafts,  and  guiding  them  as  they  drifted  towards 
the  island  whereon  were  the  crew.  They  should 
have  been  hailed  as  heroes  and  helped,  but  the  crew 
were  afraid — whether  rightly  or  wrongly  I cannot 
say.  Certainly  you  could  hardly  expect  men  who 
had  been  left  heavily  ironed  to  drown,  to  deal  very 
tenderly  with  the  men  who  had  calmly  acquiesced 
in  their  death.  At  any  rate,  the  story  goes  the  white 
men  feared,  not  that  the  black  men  would  attack 
them,  but  that  they  would  consume  the  water  and 
provisions  that  had  been  landed.  They  resolved 
to  destroy  them  as  they  approached  the  shore,  and 
they  killed  between  three  and  four  hundred ; and 
out  of  the  whole  cargo  only  thirty-three  were  saved 
to  be  brought  to  Kingston  and  sold. 

To  me  it  is  a strange  thing  that  I cannot  explain 
to  myself,  that  our  pity  is  more  easily  aroused  by  the 
story  of  one  individual  case  than  by  the  tale  of 
suffering  in  the  mass.  It  was  an  awful  thing  to 
leave  those  helpless  people  confined  and  shackled, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves ; it  was 
still  worse  to  shoot  them  down  when  by  their  own 
pluck  and  intrepidity  they  had  succeeded  in  saving 
themselves.  There  were  little  children  amongst  them, 
and  they  too  must  have  been  shot  down ; they  too 
must  have  raised  despairing  little  hands  to  brutes 
who  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the  word  pity.  But 
somehow  even  that,  terrible  as  it  is,  pales  before  the 
conduct  of  a brutal  slaver,  the  last  I shall  tell  of  the 
many  brutalities  of  the  Middle  Passage.  It  was  told 
in  Parliament  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
told  probably  reluctantly,  for  much  of  the  evidence 
was  dragged  out  of  unwilling  witnesses  who  feared 
for  themselves.  They  were  surgeons,  or  ships’  officers. 


120 


THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE 


or  seamen,  and  their  livelihood  depended  upon  their 
keeping  in  with  captains  and  shipowners. 

There  was  a baby  of  ten  months  old,  a chubby 
little  round-faced  helpless  thing.  It  ‘'took  sulk  and 
would  not  eat,”  Clarkson  puts  it.  How  should  it  eat 
when  what  it  wanted  was  milk,  and  what  it  got  was 
rice  or  pulse,  poor  baby.  And  that  tiny  child  that 
brutal  monster  flogged  with  a “cat,”  swearing  he 
would  make  it  eat  or  kill  it.  “From  this  and  other 
ill-treatment,”  says  Clarkson,  not  specifying  the  ill- 
treatment,  “ the  child’s  legs  swelled.  He  then  ordered 
some  water  to  be  made  hot  to  abate  the  swelling. 
But  even  his  tender  mercies  were  cruel,  for  the  cook, 
putting  his  hand  in  the  water,  said  it  was  too  hot. 
Upon  this  the  captain  swore  at  him,  and  ordered  the 
feet  to  be  put  in.  This  was  done.  The  nails  and  skin 
came  off*.  Oiled  cloths  were  then  put  round  them.” 
And  then,  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  the  child  was 
tied  to  a heavy  log,  and  apparently  the  brute  who 
had  charge  of  his  destinies  forgot  all  about  it  for 
a little  while.  It  must  have  eaten  something,  perhaps 
its  mother  had  a little,  for  the  captain  did  not  notice 
it  for  two  or  three  days ; then  its  pitiful  crying,  I 
suppose,  called  his  attention  to  it,  and  he  “caught 
it  up  again  and  repeated  that  he  would  make  it 
eat  or  kill  it.  He  immediately  flogged  it  again,  and 
in  a quarter  of  an  hour  it  died.” 

Now  I am  aware  that  cases  of  individual  cruelty 
may  happen  at  any  time  in  any  place.  But  against 
that  is  the  fact  that  this  brutality  was  committed 
openly  upon  the  deck  of  the  slaver,  the  ofiicers  and 
crew  saw  it,  and  not  one  of  them  raised  a hand  to 
help  a helpless  baby  who  was  being  cruelly  done  to 
death.  More — when  the  story  came  out  nothing  was 
done  to  the  man  who  has  left  such  a memorial  behind 
him,  and  no  one  seemed  surprised  at  this. 


THE  MAKING  OF  A PEOPLE 


121 


I apologise  for  this  chapter,  it  is  so  full  of 
horrors.  But  seeing  the  people  who  have  made 
Jamaica  their  own,  writing  about  them  I am  of 
necessity  compelled  to  tell  the  whole  story,  for  it 
seems  to  me  they  cannot  be  properly  understood — 
their  kindliness,  their  subserviency,  their  cheerfulness, 
even  their  insolence  and  their  dishonesty — unless  we 
examine  the  way  in  which  their  forbears  first  came 
to  Jamaica. 


CHAPTEE  VT 


THE  PLANTATION 

I CAN  hardly  say  it  too  often — in  reading  about  the 
slaves  and  their  sufferings  we  must  remember  that 
past  ages  had  different  standards,  and  that,  although 
undoubtedly  the  slaves  suffered  horribly  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  times,  and  other  people  suffered  as 
well.  Even  at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  coming 
to  England  from  a land  where  the  working  man 
could  always  make  enough  to  keep  himself  in  decency 
and  comfort,  I was  shocked  and  horrified  at  the 
condition  of  the  poorer  classes  in  the  great  cities  of 
England.  In  London,  in  Liverpool,  in  the  Five 
Towns,  and  more  particularly  in  Sheffield,  was  I 
dismayed  at  the  low  standard  of  the  working  man 
or  woman.  It  seemed  to  me  they  were  slaves  in 
a bitter  cold  and  cheerless  country,  and  as  far  as 
I could  see,  for  I had  my  living  to  earn  and  no  time 
to  investigate,  they  had  no  hope  of  bettering  their 
condition. 

And  my  Australian  eyes  were  not  the  only  ones 
that  saw  the  people  so.  E.  Nesbit,  who  writes  so 
charmingly,  once  wrote  a story  in  which  the  children, 
either  by  means  of  a magic  carpet  or  a reanimated 
phoenix,  brought  back  Queen  Semiramis  to  visit  the 
earth  and  took  her  for  a ride  on  top  of  an  omnibus 
through  the  London  streets. 

‘‘  How  badly  you  keep  your  slaves  ? ” said  the 
Queen. 


122 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  A SLAVE  SHIP 


123 


“Oh,  there  are  no  slaves  in  England,”  said  the 
children.  I quote  from  memory  but  this  is  the  gist 
of  the  story. 

“ Stuff  and  nonsense,  children  1 ” said  the  Queen. 
“ Don't  tell  me ! Think  I don't  know  a slave  when 
I see  him  ! '' 

E.  Nesbit  is  quite  right.  We  cannot  see  fairly 
and  in  their  true  colours  the  things  to  which  use 
has  deadened  our  sensibilities.  It  must  have  seemed 
quite  natural  for  the  planters  of  Jamaica  to  be  pleased 
when  a slave  ship  arrived.  The  news  would  go 
round  at  once,  and  as  the  ships  were  not  very  big 
they  came  to  ports  that  only  a coaster  visits  nowadays. 
To  Kingston,  of  course,  to  Montego  Bay,  but  they 
also  went  to  Savanna  la  Mar  and  to  Black  River  and 
other  places  that  dream  idly  in  the  sunshine  now 
and  get  their  stores  by  motor  boats  and  schooners. 

Probably  the  planter  grumbled  and  growled  and 
said  the  stench  of  such  a ship  was  enough  to  knock 
you  down,  and  that  he  hated  the  job,  but  he  had 
to  have  hands,  and  in  a way  he  enjoyed  the  outing 
and  the  gathering  together  of  his  own  kind.  No 
one,  I think,  for  one  moment  thought  of  the  sufferings 
of  the  slaves ; they  grumbled,  as  men  do  nowadays 
because  a pig-stye  smells.  Occasionally  a farmer, 
wiser  than  the  rest,  declares  the  swine  should  be 
kept  clean,  but  one  and  all,  grumblers  and  wise  men, 
are  sure  they  need  bacon.  And  so  it  was  with  the 
sale  of  the  black  cattle. 

They  were  savages.  Occasionally,  perhaps,  a 
highly  bred  and  educated  man  from  the  north  might 
be  mixed  up  with  them,  but  as  a rule  the  slaves 
imported  were  the  merest  barbarians.  It  is  no  good 
thinking  they  were  anything  else.  It  is  true  enough 
what  the  advocates  of  slavery  always  maintained, 
that  through  their  enslaving  they  did  get  a glimpse 


124 


THE  PLANTATION 


of  better  things.  An  Ashanti  woman  with  her  shaven 
head  and  a cloth  wrapped  round  her  middle,  beating 
fu-fu,  is  certainly  not  as  far  advanced  in  the  social 
scale  as  the  milkmaid  clambering  down  the  steep 
hillside  to  Montego  Bay  and  saving  her  pennies  to 
buy  herself  smart  clothes  in  which  to  go  to  church. 
But  it  is  also  certain  that  the  men  who  imported  her 
forbears  were  thinking  only  of  their  own  convenience. 

There  was  a tremendous  cleaning  up  on  board 
on  arrival ; salt  water  was  aplenty,  and  the  slaves 
were  doctored,  their  sores  were  attended  to,  and  they 
were  given  palm  oil  and  coconut  oil  with  which 
to  anoint  themselves.  They  must  have  been  thankful 
to  come  out  of  their  cramped  quarters  and  bask  on 
deck  in  the  sunshine,  but  they  must  have  feared. 
One  historian  has  left  it  on  record  that  the  planters 
who  came  down  to  buy  had  often  celebrated  the 
arrival  and  were  so  gloriously  drunk  that  the 
scramble  for  the  goods  was  disgraceful  and  the 
unfortunate  Helots  must  have  thought  they  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  cannibals  and  were  to  be  despatched 
forthwith. 

The  planters,  when  they  were  able,  visited  the 
ships  to  see  the  new  importations  and  decide  for 
which  they  should  bid  at  the  coming  sale,  but  in 
later  times  the  slaves  were  taken  straight  to  the 
vendue  master  and  sold  in  the  public  slave  market. 
There  used  to  be  a large  slave  market  at  Montego 
Bay,  quite  close  to  the  water,  so  that  the  merchandise 
might  be  rowed  ashore,  and  the  gentlemen  from 
Success  and  Contentment  and  Retrieve,  from  Iron 
Shore  and  Retirement  and  True  Friendship — thus  they 
name  plantations  in  Jamaica — came  crowding  to  fill 
up  the  gaps  in  their  hands,  to  buy  Madam  a serving 
wench,  or  young  master  a boy  to  wait  upon  him. 

They  stood  there  in  rows,  naked  savages,  men  and 


THE  SLAVE  MARKET 


125 


women  with  clean  cloths  round  their  loins,  and  boys 
and  girls  stark.  Their  shackles  had  generally  been 
struck  off  because  a quiet  and  peaceable  slave  was 
more  valued  than  one  who  had  to  be  kept  in  restraint. 
There  were  shade  trees  growing  round  the  market- 
place, and  the  sun  flickered  down  through  their  leaves 
and  made  patterns  on  the  shapely  dark  bodies,  and 
the  buyers  examined  them  exactly  as  they  would  have 
examined  a horse  or  a cow  they  wanted  to  buy. 

The  buyers  had  certain  preferences.  In  spite  of 
an  evil  reputation,  ‘^the  Koromantyns,”  says  Bryan 
Edwards,  ‘‘are  distinguished  from  all  others  by 
firmness  both  of  body  and  mind,  a ferociousness 
of  disposition ; but  withal,  activity,  courage,  and 
stubbornness,”  and  this,  while  it  made  them 
dangerous,  made  them  good  labourers.  The  Papams 
or  Whidahs,  those  who  came  from  the  coasts  between 
Accra  and  all  along  by  Keta  and  Togoland  and 
Dahomey,  “ are  accounted  most  docile.”  The  Eboes 
from  Calabar  and  the  swamps  round  the  mouths 
of  the  Niger  “were  valued  the  least,  being  feeble, 
timid,  despairing  creatures,  who  not  infrequently 
used  to  commit  suicide  in  their  dejection,”  which 
perhaps  was  not  surprising  if  they  could  not  work 
and  knew  what  they  had  to  expect  if  they  did  not. 

The  people  from  the  Gaboon  country,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Gulf  of  Guinea,  were  said  to  be  in- 
variably ill-disposed,  and  lastly,  those  from  the  Congo 
and  farther  south  from  the  coasts  of  Angola,  though 
counted  less  robust  than  the  other  negroes,  were 
more  handy  as  mechanics,  and  more  trustworthy. 
So  the  gentlemen,  crowding  to  the  sales,  had  some 
idea  of  the  quality  of  the  goods  they  had  come  to  buy. 

The  value  of  a slave  increased  as  the  years  went 
on.  In  1689,  I believe,  a slave  could  be  bought  for 
£7,  but  of  course  £7  was  a great  deal  more  money 


126 


THE  PLANTATION 


then  than  it  is  now.  Then  a good  negro  rose  to  £20. 
In  1750  a planter  writes,  “Bought  ten  negroes  at 
£50  each  — which,  Edwards  says,  was  the  common 
price  in  1791 ; boys  and  girls  cost  from  £40  to  £45, 
while  an  infant  was  worth  £5.  After  that  they  rose 
in  value  rapidly,  and  before  Edwards  had  finished 
his  history  in  his  estimate  of  the  expenses  of  a sugar 
plantation,  he  values  the  negroes  at  £70  apiece ; while 
in  1832,  just  before  the  Emancipation,  when  the 
planters  expected  compensation  for  the  loss  of  their 
labour,  the  value  of  a slave  sometimes  rose  as  high  as 
£110  per  man. 

Because  of  the  perquisites  of  the  officers,  only  the 
healthy  slaves  were  offered  for  sale  at  first,  but  the 
sick,  injured,  and  weakly  were  by  no  means  wasted. 
Indeed,  even  in  those  hard-bitten  times,  the  disposal 
of  the  sickly  slaves  was  often  considered  a scandal. 
They  were  generally  bought  up  by  speculators  who 
sometimes  tended  them,  sometimes  did  not,  simply 
made  what  they  could  out  of  them.  If  the  lot  of  the 
healthy  slaves  was  hard,  that  of  the  newly  arrived 
and  sickly  was  terrible,  till  death  released  them  from 
their  sufferings.  And  in  every  ship  we  may  be  sure 
there  were  sick. 

I do  not  find  any  record  of  slave  risings  on  the 
arrival  of  the  ships.  It  seems  as  if  the  black  men, 
dazed  and  frightened,  unaccustomed  to  their  new 
surroundings,  submitted  quietly  enough.  It  was  not 
until  they  were  on  the  estates,  had  time  to  look 
round  them,  had  hoes  and  knives  and  machetes  put 
into  their  hands,  that  they  realised  the  comparative 
weakness  of  the  whites,  and  the  chance  they  had  of 
freedom.  They  might  be  met  any  day,  a band  of 
stalwart  black  savages  clad  only  in  loin  cloths,  the 
women,  apart  with  their  babies  seated  on  their  hips, 
leading  older  children  by  the  hand,  marching  along 


DUMB  SAVAGES 


127 


the  white  roads,  clambering  up  the  steep  mountain 
paths  to  the  estate  that  was  to  be  their  destination, 
with  a white  man  on  horseback  following  slowly, 
and  one,  or  two,  or  three  black  drivers,  according  to 
the  number  of  the  new  slaves,  with  whips,  old  slaves 
who  could  be  trusted,  marshalling  them.  Sometimes 
they  sang,  and  always  they  went  better  to  some  sort 
of  music,  but  I do  not  think  they  were  often  very 
rebellious.  The  first  bitterness  of  the  enslavement 
had  passed.  Here  was  solid  ground  beneath  their 
feet  again,  a companion  they  were  accustomed  to, 
beside  them,  pleasant  sunshine  and  a cooling  breeze, 
and  it  might  be  worth  their  while  to  see  what  the 
future  held  for  them. 

Arrived  at  the  estate,  the  newcomers  were  very 
often  handed  over  individually  to  some  slave  accus- 
tomed to  the  plantation,  who  showed  them  the  ropes, 
and  possibly  heard  tales  of  the  country  from  which 
he  had  been  torn  long  ago. 

They  were  practically  dumb  these  first  comers. 
They  did  not  understand  the  language ; even  the  old 
hands  only  grasped  the  words  of  command,  and 
though  they  thoroughly  understood  the  uses  to  which 
a knife  might  be  put,  a hoe  they  would  certainly 
regard  as  a woman’s  implement. 

Of  course  their  masters  took  no  heed  of  that,  any 
more  than  they  considered  the  slave’s  feelings  when 
they  made  over  a fierce  Ashanti  or  Mendi  warrior  to 
a mild  Joloff,  or  gave  a Mandingo  from  the  north, 
who  was  likely  to  be  a Mohammedan  and  might  even 
be  able  to  read  and  write  Arabic,  into  the  charge  of 
an  Eboe,  who  was  a savage  pure  and  simple,  and 
probably  remained  a savage  after  years  of  plantation 
labour.  To  do  them  justice,  I expect  these  gentlemen 
from  Amity,  or  Eose  Hall,  or  Good  Hope,  had  about 
as  much  idea  of  the  map  of  Africa  as  I have  of  the 


128 


THE  PLANTATION 


contour  of  the  Antarctic  Continent — less  very  likely  ; 
and  that  these  people  were  separated  as  widely  by 
the  countries  of  their  birth  as  they  themselves  were 
from  England,  never  occurred  to  them.  I don’t 
suppose  they  would  have  bothered  if  it  had.  But 
certain  differences  were  forced  upon  them.  And  for 
the  proper  working  of  their  plantations,  they  must 
needs  take  note  of  those  differences.  As  a rule,  they 
were  not  intentionally  cruel,  but  they  regarded  the 
slaves  as  chattels. 

There  is  a story  told  by  Bryan  Edwards,  to 
illustrate  the  superior  pluck  of  the  Koromantyns, 
but  it  also  shows  us  the  standing  of  a slave  very 
well  indeed : — 

‘‘A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  who  had 
purchased  at  the  same  time  ten  Koromantyn  boys, 
and  the  like  number  of  Eboes,  the  eldest  of  the 
whole  apparently  not  more  than  thirteen  years  of  age 
— caused  them  all  to  be  collected  and  brought  before 
him  in  my  presence  to  be  marked  on  the  breast. 
This  operation  is  performed  by  heating  a small  silver 
brand,  composed  of  one  or  two  letters,  in  the  flame 
of  spirits  of  wine,  and  applying  it  to  the  skin  which 
is  previously  anointed  with  sweet  oil.  The  applica- 
tion is  instantaneous  and  the  pain  momentary.”  So 
Mr  Bryan  Edwards  but  he  was  in  no  danger  from  a 
branding  iron.  ‘‘Nevertheless,  it  may  be  easily  sup- 
posed that  the  apparatus  must  have  a frightful  appear- 
ance to  a child.  Accordingly,  when  the  first  boy,  who 
happened  to  be  one  of  the  Eboes,  and  the  stoutest  of 
the  whole,  was  led  forward  to  receive  the  mark,  he 
screamed  dreadfully,  while  his  companions  of  the 
same  nation  manifested  strong  emotions  of  sympa- 
thetic terror.  The  gentleman  stopped  his  hand.  But 
the  Koromantyn  boys,  laughing  aloud,  and  immedi- 
ately coming  forward  of  their  own  accord,  offered 


THE  BRAND 


129 


their  bosoms  undauntedly  to  the  brand,  and  receiving 
its  impression  without  flinching  in  the  least,  snapped 
their  fingers  in  exultation  over  the  poor  Eboes.” 

The  natives  of  Africa  are  often  much  worse 
marked  than  any  small  silver  brand  could  mark 
them  merely  by  way  of  ornament,  and  many  a time 
do  we  see  white  men  who  have  submitted  to  the 
more  painful  operation  of  tattooing  merely  for — well, 
when  I’m  put  to  it  I really  don’t  know  why  a white 
man  allows  himself  to  be  tattooed. 

You  will  find  it  said  that  the  majority  of  people 
were  good  to  their  slaves,  that  it  was  their  interest 
to  be  good  to  them.  True,  but  unfortunately  we 
have  only  to  look  round  us  to  see  how  often 
nowadays  a horse,  or  indeed  any  helpless  creature 
dependent  upon  some  careless  man’s  good-will,  is 
ill-used,  even  though  ultimately  that  ill-usage  means 
a loss  to  the  owner.  And  so  it  was  in  Jamaica : 
a man  did  the  best  he  could  for  his  slaves,  his 
favourites  were  pampered,  but  when  it  came  to  a 
pinch  the  slaves  suffered.  There  was  a terrible 
famine  in  Jamaica  in  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century ; England  had  decreed  that  there  should  be 
no  trade  with  her  revolted  colonies,  supplies  were 
therefore  more  restricted  than  they  need  have  been, 
and  it  is  recorded  that  the  slaves  died  by  thousands. 
Again  and  again  we  are  told  how,  even  in  normal 
times,  the  slave  spent  his  midday  rest  hour  either 
in  the  bush  picking  berries  and  wild  fruits  with 
which  to  supplement  his  scanty  fare,  or  else  in 
searching  the  rubbish  heap  at  the  planters’  door  for 
gnawed  bones  which  were  ground  small  and  boiled 
down  to  get  what  sustenance  there  was  in  them. 
No  one  troubled  about  a slave ; some  men  would 
get  a reputation  for  ill-treating  their  slaves,  but  no 
one  thought  of  interfering. 


130 


THE  PLANTATION 


Besides,  as  I have  remarked  before,  the  pens  and 
estates  were  so  isolated.  Anything  might  have 
happened  to  a slave  on  one  of  those  estates,  and 
it  would  have  been  long  before  rumour  carried  the 
tale  to  the  next  estate. 

And  there  was  another  side  of  the  picture,  the 
side  at  which  the  planter  looked,  especially  when  he 
thought  of  bringing  a wife  to  his  lonely  Great  House 
set  high  on  a hill- top  or  a jutting  rock.  He  was 
surrounded  by  some  hundreds  of  these  alien  people, 
dumbly  resentful  of  their  condition — he  didn’t  put 
it  like  that — ill-conditioned  ruffians  he  probably  called 
them,  and  he  never  knew  when  the  worst  might  not 
influence  the  rest.  And  they  were  armed  with 
machetes  and  knives  and  hoes  and  spades,  for 
purposes  of  agriculture  certainly,  but  agricultural 
implements  make  excellent  weapons  of  offence  in 
the  hands  of  a fierce  Timini  or  Krobo  warrior.  “ He 
travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone,”  as  Kipling 
sings,  and  many  a man  thanked  God  he  had  no 
wife  or  children. 

He  took  to  himself  one  of  the  dark  women,  and 
in  later  times  there  were  the  mulattoes  and  quadroons 
to  be  had  for  the  choosing. 

We  can  easily  see  why  the  presence  of  a white 
woman-  was  resented  upon  an  estate.  If  the  owner 
chose  to  live  with  some  brown  or  yellow  girl  he 
naturally  objected  to  his  underlings  choosing  a mode 
of  life  which  would  be  a reproach  to  him,  and  if 
he  brought  out  a wife  all  those  who  had  no  wives 
felt  that  Madam  exercised  an  undue  espionage  over 
their  mode  of  life. 

'‘In  my  drive  this  morning  met  several  of  the 
unfortunate  half  black  progeny  of  some  of  our  staff,” 
writes  Lady  Nugent,  “all  in  fine  muslin  lace,  &c., 
with  wreaths  of  flowers  in  their  hats.  What  ruin 


THE  SLAVE  HOUSEKEEPER 


131 


for  these  worse  than  thoughtless,  young  men.”  If 
she  wrote  thus,  she  probably  did  not  refrain  from 
comment  at  the  time,  and  doubtless  her  comment 
was  resented. 

“Soon  after  my  arrival,”  writes  Matthew  Lewis, 
“ I asked  my  attorney  ” (an  attorney  in  Jamaica  is 
the  man  who  manages  the  estate  for  an  absentee 
owner)  “whether  a clever-looking  woman  who  seemed 
to  have  great  authority  in  the  house  belonged  to  me.” 
“ 'No,  she  was  a free  woman.’ 

“ ' Was  she  in  my  service  then  ? ’ 

“'No,  she  was  not  in  my  service.’  I began  to 
grow  impatient. 

'"But  what  does  she  do  at  Cornwall?  Of  what 
use  is  she  in  the  house  ? ’ 

“ ' Why,  sir,  as  to  use,  of  great  use,  sir  ’ ; and 
then,  after  a pause,  added  in  a lower  voice,  'It  is 
the  custom,  sir,  for  unmarried  men  to  have  house- 
keepers, and  Nancy  is  mine.’  ” 

Lewis  wrote  in  the  second  decade  of  the  nineteenth 
century  a little  after  Lady  Nugent,  and  putting  all 
these  little  stories  together,  we  get  a complete  picture 
of  the  Jamaican  estate  as  it  must  have  been  for  close 
on  two  hundred  years. 

The  black  people,  naked  at  first  and  later  clad 
in  rags,  lived  in  a little  village  some  distance  from 
the  Great  House  where  dwelt  their  master,  and  the 
bond  between  them  was  the  woman  he  took  from 
amongst  them  for  his  convenience.  The  villages  were 
of  palm-thatched  houses  with  walls  of  swish  or  of 
wattle,  and  were  very  often  surrounded  by  a wall, 
for  if  the  owner  valued  his  privacy  so  did  the 
dweller  in  the  village,  and  presently  around  them 
grew  up  a grove  of  trees  planted  by  the  negro  some- 
times by  design,  sometimes  by  accident ; there  were 
coconut  palms  and  naseberries,  tall  leafy  trees,  and 


132 


THE  PLANTATION 


by  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  thanks 
to  Bligh  and  Marshall,  breadfruit  and  mango  trees, 
the  handsomest  trees,  perhaps,  that  bear  fruit,  and 
there  were  oranges  and  lemons  with  their  fragrant 
blossoms. 

never  witnessed  on  the  stage  a scene,”  says 
Lewis,  ‘‘  so  picturesque  as  a negro  village,  ...  If  I 
were  to  decide  according  to  my  own  taste  I should 
infinitely  have  preferred  their  habitations  to  my  ovm. 
Each  house  is  surrounded  by  a separate  garden,  and 
the  whole  village  is  intersected  by  lanes  bordered  with 
all  kinds  of  sweet-smelling  and  flowering  plants.” 
Certainly  he  was  fortunate.  The  villages  on  his 
estate  must  have  been  model  ones.  I have  been  up 
and  down  the  land  and  I have  never  seen  a negro 
village  that  in  my  eyes  did  not  badly  need  cleaning 
up.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  houses  should  not 
be  delightful,  but  they  are  not.  In  those  old  days, 
the  days  long  before  Lewis,  they  were  a danger, 
of  course.  Of  sanitation  there  was  none.  Even  now 
about  a peasants  house  in  Jamaica  there  is  often 
an  unpleasant  smell  from  the  rotting  waste  that  is 
scattered  around  ; then  it  must  have  been  much  worse, 
but  what  could  you  expect,  when  the  masters  them- 
selves regarded  bad  smells  and  rotting  waste  as  all 
in  the  day’s  work  ? In  the  old  slave-trading  castles 
on  the  Guinea  Coast  there  was  always  a well  in 
the  courtyard,  a very  necessary  precaution,  surrounded 
as  the  traders  were  by  hostile  tribes,  but  they  also 
buried  their  dead  in  the  courtyard  and  it  never  seems 
to  have  occurred  to  them  that  by  such  a practice 
they  might  possibly  be  arranging  for  a constant 
supply  of  graves.  Sloane,  I think  it  is,  puts  it  on 
paper  that,  but  for  the  John  Crows — a small  vulture 
— he  does  not  think  the  towns  in  Jamaica  would 
have  been  habitable. 


THE  GROWTH  OF  PATRIOTISM 


133 


The  fields  where  the  slaves  grew  cassava  and 
yams  and  chochos  and  cocos  were  usually  at  some 
distance  from  the  village,  ''on  the  mountain,”  which 
meant  the  rougher  and  more  stony  hill  ground  at  a 
distance  from  the  Great  House.  According  to  custom 
one  acre  of  ground  was  planted  for  every  five  negroes, 
and  they  were  allowed  to  work  on  it  one  day  a week. 

And  very  gradually,  the  descendants  of  the 
naked  savages  who  had  been  brought  so  un- 
willingly came  to  feel  that  they  belonged  to  the 
land — it  was  their  country.  It  was  said  that  all  the 
outbreaks  were  led  by  the  newly-imported  slaves, 
and  that  the  Creoles,  those  born  in  the  colony,  were 
contented  enough.  They  had  many  wrongs,  but 
undoubtedly  they  loved  the  place  of  their  birth,  and 
felt  deeply  being  sent  away  or  sold.  They  pitied, 
as  from  a higher  plane,  the  book-keeper  who  had 
to  go.  It  is  curious  to  learn  that  when  a white 
underling  was  dismissed,  the  gangs — these  slaves  who 
must  stay  whether  they  liked  it  or  not — would  sing  : 

Massa  turn  poor  buckra  away  ho ! 

But  Massa  can’t  turn  poor  neger  away  oh ! ” 

We  see  that  they  must  have  looked  at  their 
position  from  a difierent  view-point  from  that  we 
naturally  take  now. 

I have  read  through  two  or  three  books  of  records 
of  such  estates  as  Worthy  Park  and  Pose  Hall,  and 
in  them  the  slaves  are  enumerated  in  exactly  the 
same  fashion  as  the  cattle  on  the  next  page.  The 
Worthy  Park  book  I found  specially  interesting.  It 
was  an  old  brown  leather-covered  book,  18  inches 
long  by  1 foot  broad,  and  round  it  clung — or  so  it 
seemed  to  me — an  unrestful  emanation,  as  if  the  men 
who  wrote  in  it  were  discontented  and  found  life  a 
vexatious  thing. 

K 


134 


THE  PLANTATION 


This  slave  book  begins — and  the  beginning  is 
written  in  a very  clear  clerkly  hand  ; I expect  my 
grandmother  would  have  placed  the  writer’s  status 
exactly — with  a description  of  the  lands,  3150  acres, 
held  by  the  original  owner  of  Worthy  Park,  John 
Price,  Esq.,  of  Penzance,  England ; he  was  an 
absentee  owner,  and  there  is  no  record  in  the  book 
of  his  ever  having  visited  his  estate.  George  Doubt 
was  the  superintendent,  and  lived  at  the  Great  House ; 
but  whether  it  was  he  who  made  those  first  entries, 
there  is  no  means  of  knowing.  He  certainly  did 
not  make  them  all,  for  the  handwriting  varies,  and 
there  were  no  less  than  six  overseers  in  the  five 
years,  the  book  records,  between  1787  and  1792. 
And  the  ink  and  the  paper  reflect  credit  on  the 
makers,  for  though  browned  with  time  the  writing 
is  perfectly  legible,  and  the  pages  are  stout  still. 

Once  the  limits  of  the  estate  are  laid  down,  we 
come  to  the  stock  upon  it — the  negroes,  the  mules, 
the  horses,  the  oxen  ; and  every  quarter  returns  were 
made  to  the  Vestry  of  the  Parish.  This,  I think, 
because  a tax  of  6d.  a head  had  to  be  paid  upon 
every  slave ; and  for  the  safety  of  the  public  a certain 
number  of  white  men  had  to  be  kept,  capable  of 
bearing  arms. 

The  white  men  were  always  changing,  with  the 
exception  of  George  Doubt,  so  I conclude  either  that 
that  superintendent  was  a hard  man,  or  that  John 
Price,  comfortable  in  his  English  home,  drove  him 
hard : for  even  for  those  times  the  pay  seems  to 
have  been  poor.  What  Doubt  got  I do  not  know, 
but  the  overseer  got  £200  a year,  and  of  course  his 
board  and  lodging  ; the  surgeon  got  £140  per  annum  ; 
the  book-keeper  and  distiller  £50  per  annum,  and 
the  ordinary  book-keepers  £30  per  annum  each.  It 
was  no  catch  to  be  a book-keeper  in  those  days.  As 


men— OR  CATTLE 


135 


a rule  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  books,  but  he  did 
all  the  little  jobs  that  could  not  be  entrusted  to  the 
slaves.  He  served  out  the  corn  for  the  feeding  of 
the  fowls,  kept  count  of  the  rats  that  were  killed, 
and  went  into  the  cane-fields  with  the  negro  drivers. 
He  had  to  be  out  in  the  fields  so  early  that  his 
breakfast  was  sent  out  to  him. 

A negro  wench,  complained  a long-suffering 
young  man,  brought  him  his  breakfast — a bottle  of 
cold  coffee,  two  herrings,  and  a couple  of  boiled 
plantains  stuck  on  a fork.  It  does  not  sound 
luxurious,  and  £30  a year  did  not  hold  out  much 
hope  of  bettering  himself. 

Among  the  stock  the  negroes  come  before  the 
cattle,  and  are  described  in  much  the  same  language. 

A General  List  of  Negroes  on,  and  belonging  to. 
Worthy  Park  Plantation,  taken  the  1st  January  1787.’' 

The  page  is  divided  into  three  columns,  headed 
respectively,  '‘Names,  Qualifications,  and  Conditions”; 
and  underneath,  "Quashie,  Head  Carpenter,  Able,” 
at  the  top  of  a long  list  that  is  never  less  than  340 
and  sometimes  rises  to  360  names.  There  were  6 
Carpenters,  numbering  among  them  Mulatto  Aleck, 
and  2 learning;  there  were  2 Sawyers,  1 Joiner  and 
Cabinet  Maker,  1 Blacksmith,  Mulatto  John,  1 
Mason,  Mulatto  Billy,  and  1 learning,  3 Drivers, 
1 man  in  the  Garden  who  was  marked  Old  and 
Infirm,  5 Wain  men,  3 Boilers,  a Head  mule  man, 
and  138  others,  ending  with  children  too  young  to 
be  of  any  use.  \ 

The  names  are  various,  and  do  not  differ  very 
much  from  those  of  the  cattle  numbered  a few  pages 
further  on.  Prussia,  the  Head  mule  man,  is  Able, 
Minuith  is  Distemper’d,  and  eight  Macs,  beginning 
with  MacDonald,  and  ending  with  MacLean,  are  all 
Able.  Nero  is  a field-labourer  and  Able,  and  Don’t 


136 


THE  PLANTATION 


Care,  a wain  man,  is  Able.  Further  on  there  is  a 
steer  named  Why  Xot  ? Waller,  the  Head  boiler, 
is  sickly,  and  Johnston,  a field -labourer,  is  subject 
to  “Fitts.”  Dryden  is  Able,  but  Elderly.  Punch 
and  Bacchus  are  Elderly  and  Weakly,  which  seems 
wrong  somehow,  and  Ishmael  is  Infirm  and  a 
Runaway.  Italy  is  Able,  Spain  is  Distemper’d,  and 
Portugal  is  Weakly.  Germany  is  Old  and  Weak. 
Quaco’s  Jumbo  is  subject  to  Sores,  and  Creole  Cuba’s 
Cuffie  is  Weakly  and  a notorious  Runaway.  Poor 
Pope  is  lame  in  one  hand,  and  so  is  Homer,  while 
Kent,  Duke,  Guy,  Prince,  John.  Morrice,  and  James, 
are  “all  of  no  use,  being  too  young.” 

Then  we  come  to  the  women.  There  are  141 
of  them,  64  Field  Labourers,  44  of  whom  are  Able. 
Grace  is  a Driver  and  Elderly,  and  Delia  and 
Dilligence  are  both  Elderly.  Baddo  and  CVeole 
Betty  are  Old  and  Weakly,  Lilly  is  Elderly  and 
Sickly.  Little  Dido  is  “ Weakiy  & Runaway.” 
Woman  is  Field  Cook  for  the  Small  Gans,  Silvia 
is  Nurse  to  the  young  Children  in  the  Field. 
Luida’s  Nancy  is  “ Superunuated.”  Little  Yabba 
is  lame  in  her  hip,  Chloe  is  Weakly  and  Worthless. 
Little  Benebah  is  Runaway  and  Worthless,  Strumpet 
is  Able,  a Runaway — could  one  expect  much  from 
a woman  called  by  such  a name  ? — and  that  "\Miore 
was  also  Runaway  and  Worthless  seems  but  a con- 
firmation of  the  old  saying  about  giving  a dog  a bad 
name  and  hanging  him.  But  Lady,  too,  is  Runaway  ; 
perhaps  she  was  sickly  and  not  equal  to  the  work 
they  expected  of  her.  We  may  judge  that  the 
writer  who  recorded  those  dead-and-gone  black 
labourers  was  not  a lettered  man,  for  he  writes 
down  I’svche,  “Svchke.”  But  Psyche  has  always 
been  a difficulty.  Miss  Maxwell  Hall  on  Kempshot 
Pen  has  a cow  so  named,  and  periodically  she  goes 


EXPENDING  THE  NEGROES 


137 


through  her  cattle  with  her  headman.  She  keeps 
her  list  and  he  presents  his.  Psyche  he  had  written 
Sikey,”  and  the  young  lady  coming  upon  it  among 
the  ‘‘  S’s  ” murmured  to  herself : — 

“Psyche,  yes,  ‘p,’  of  course.”  He  was  an 
observant  man,  and  the  next  time  the  list  was 
presented  to  her  Psyche  had  been  written  “Spikey  ” ! 

Perhaps  the  overseer  did  not  do  so  badly  with 
“ Sychke.” 

Little  Abba,  a field  cook,  has  lost  one  hand. 
Apparently  they  did  not  trouble  much  about  the 
field- labourer’s  food,  hardly  more  than  they  did 
about  the  book-keeper’s.  Simbry  is  Elderly  and 
a Gandy,  which  appears  to  have  been  a midwife. 
Poor  Pallas  is  weakly.  Sicily,  old  and  weakly, 
cuts  grass  for  the  stables ; Abbas  Moll,  Invalid, 
“ Sores,”  washes  the  bags.  I hope  they  weren’t  used 
for  anything  important.  Olive  is  blind,  and  no  less 
than  thirteen  are  “ superunuated,”  while  twenty-eight, 
among  them  Behaviour,  Friendship,  and  Phebas,  are 
“of  no  use,  being  very  young.”  Later  on,  “Little 
Friendship’s”  death  of  fever  and  a sore  throat  is 
recorded.  Here,  too,  are  Quadroon  Kitty,  Quadroon 
Molly,  and  Quadroon  Bessy,  nearer  the  white  man 
than  the  black  but  still  slaves. 

George  Doubt  expended  his  negroes  freely.  . . . 
Thirty  negroes,  fifteen  men  and  fifteen  women,  were 
I bought  on  the  2nd  March  1787.  They  were  “late 
' the  property  of  Mr  Alex.  Stanhope  dec’d,  bo’t  of 
1 Edward  Brailsford,  Esq.”  Why  the  difierence  in 
the  titles  I don’t  know.  They  were  all  marked 
“Able”  when  they  were  bought,  but  in  1789  the 
men  are  reduced  to  thirteen,  and  Toby,  who  was 
1 a Mason,  is  now  old  and  infirm ; England,  a sawyer, 

: is  old  and  infirm ; Eoger,  a field  negro,  is  now 

I “little  worth”;  Dick  is  sickly  and  Caesar  is  Able, 


I 


138 


THE  PLANTATION 


but  evidently  he  did  not  like  Worthy  Park,  for 
he  is  always  running  away.  Prince,  now  in  the 
overseer  s stables,  is  of  little  worth ; Cuffie  is  dead 
and  York  is  now  represented  by  a little  child. 

And  of  the  women,  Plora  is  sickly  and  Delia 
is  dead,  and  there  is  a sinister  entry  against  Fidelia — 
‘‘Died,  reduced  by  lying  in  the  bushes.’'  Why  did 
Fidelia  leave  her  home  and  lie  in  the  bushes  till 
she  was  so  reduced  she  died? 

But  it  is  just  the  same  tale  with  the  older  hands. 
I would  condemn  slavery  on  the  Worthy  Park  slave 
book  alone;  and  Worthy  Park  had  not  the  bad 
reputation  Kose  Hall  had,  yet  Quashie,  who  opens 
the  book  as  able  in  two  years,  is  old  and  infirm ; 
Mulatto  Aleck  is  infirm.  Mulatto  George,  then 
able,  is  now  subject  to  sores  and  “Bone  ach.” 
Minuith  has  now  become  Minute,  and  from  being 
a carpenter  has  become  a watchman,  which  means 
he  is  good  for  nothing  else.  Joan’s  Cudjoe,  the 
Head  sawyer,  has  against  him  “Eheumatism,”  and 
Darby,  the  Head  Driver,  formerly  Able,  is  now 
“Buptur’d.”  Guy’s  Quashie  and  Creole  Scotland 
are  now  both  elderly.  Pool  and  Waller  the  Boilers 
are  sent  to  the  field  sometimes,  a bitter  come-down 
for  them,  and  are  both  elderly  and  infirm.  Nero 
has  elephantiasis,  Dryden  is  now  cutting  grass, 
M‘Pherson  is  weakly,  M‘Clean  is  asthmatic.  Don’t 
Care  is  infirm,  Juba’s  Quashie  is  dead.  Perhaps 
the  new  overseer  was  a harder  man,  for  I noticed 
that  Quaco’s  Jumbo,  who  was  originally  described 
as  “Weakly  and  a Runaway,”  is  now  “Able  but 
a Skulker.” 

Philip,  who  was  “Able,”  is  now  “infirm,”  and 
Pope,  who  only  has  one  hand,  is  now  “Able  and 
Ill-dispos’d,”  and  no  mention  is  made  of  an  .infirmity 
which  certainly  must  severely  handicap  a slave. 


BORN  TO  SLAVERY 


139 


And  so  it  goes  on.  Villian  is  '' Subject  to  Fits/’ 
and  Solomon  is  “ subject  to  Bone  ach,”  a long  list 
which  makes  us  feel  for  the  weary  men  and  women 
who  must  tmm  out  into  the  field  at  the  blowing 
of  the  conch  shell. 

If  you  have  any  imagination  at  all  there  are 
many  little  pathetic  histories  in  a slave  book. 

There  was  Dolly  on  Worthy  Park  Estate,  entered 
in  1787  as  in  the  overseer’s  house.  She  had  a 
baby,  Mulatto  Patty,  in  all  probability  the  daughter 
of  the  overseer.  If  she  was  he  goes  away  and 
leaves  her  a slave  on  the  plantation,  for  she  is 
entered  every  year  to  the  end  of  the  record  as 
‘‘healthy,  but  too  young  to  work.”  Work  is  all  that 
is  expected  of  the  white  man’s  daughter.  Poor 
little  Patty ! Her  mother’s  two  next  children  are 
presumably  black,  as  their  colour  is  not  mentioned, 
which  it  would  have  been  had  they  had  any  white 
blood  in  their  veins ; and  presently  poor  Dolly  is 
a field-labourer  again,  fallen  from  her  high  estate. 
For  in  Jamaica  the  house-servant  ranks  high  in 
the  social  scale.  That  is  why,  I think,  that  the 
house-servants  in  Jamaica  generally  wear  a hand- 
kerchief over  their  heads.  The  white  bondservants 
did  so  because  it  was  the  custom  of  the  time,  and 
the  black  woman  promoted  from  the  field  put  a 
kerchief  over  her  head  and  wore  it  as  a sign  of 
her  higher  social  standing.  The  custom  is  dying 
hard,  and  it  is  a pity  it  should  die  at  all,  for  the 
negro  woman’s  hair  is  not  her  strong  point  and 
it  is  better  covered. 

Then  Fogo,  also  in  the  overseer’s  house,  had  a 
boy  named  Charles  Dale,  and  Charles  Dale  is  the 
blacksmith  upon  the  estate,  but  there  is  no  record 
of  little  Charles  being  freed.  In  truth  the  father 
never  counted.  In  a record  of  forty  births  on  Worthy 


140 


THE  PLANTATION 


Park  never  once  is  he  mentioned.  The  births  are 
put  down  on  one  side  of  the  page  as  “Increase 
of  the  Negroes,”  and  the  baby  is  only  mentioned 
because  he  is  an  asset,  as  he  takes  turn  with  the 
notice  that  so  many  negroes  have  been  bought. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  page  is  invariably  “ Increase 
of  Stock,”  kept  on  exactly  the  same  lines. 

In  the  Eose  Hall  slave  books,  thirty  years  later 
in  date,  the  births  are  put  casually  among  the  daily 
occurrences,  just  as  the  runaways  are  mentioned, 
or  the  fact  that  a certain  runawav  “ Caesar  ” or 
“Arabella”  is  “brought  home.”  And,  perhaps,  in 
the  whole  pitiful  list  in  all  the  books,  the  only  entry 
that  looks  well  is  that  Betty  Madge  on  Worthy  Park 
has  many  young  children  and  does  not  work. 

The  last  man  who  makes  entries  in  this  book  is 
rather  fond  of  a gentle  reproach.  I don't  like  him, 
and  I don’t  think  the  negroes  could  have  liked  him 
either,  though  I only  judge  by  the  handwriting  and 
his  brief  remarks. 

“ Pheba  Girl,”  for  instance,  is  “ Able  but  a sad 
skulker,”  and  Lady  is  a “sad  runaway.”  Psyche  has 
become  “ Sickie  ” and  is  sickly,  and  Belinda,  who 
two  years  ago  was  a child,  is  now  in  the  field.  Poor 
little  girl ! Her  life  of  labour  has  begun.  It  gave 
me  great  satisfaction  to  find  that  Congo  Betty,  who 
in  the  beginning  was  entered  as  “Able  but  a 
Eunaway,”  in  1789  ran  away  for  good,  apparently, 
for  when  the  book  closed  she  had  not  returned, 
having  been  absent  for  over  two  years.  I hope  she 
had  not  died,  but  was  happy  and  comfortable  in  the 
hills.  Perhaps  she  joined  the  Maroons,  but  I fear 
me  not  even  her  own  people  were  likely  to  be  kind 
to  an  elderly  woman. 

Others  ran  away,  but  they  came  back,  poor  things. 
Caesar  and  Lady  and  Villian  and  Mary  and  October 


SUPERANNUATED  YOUNG 


141 


ran  away  all  at  one  time.  No  mention  is  ever 
made  of  their  return,  but  they  did  come  back, 
for  later  they  are  served  with  clothing,  and  are 
mentioned  in  the  lists  of  negroes  on  the  estate.  Man 
is  a gregarious  animal,  and,  I suppose,  these  poor 
things,  skulking  in  the  woods  and  mountains,  missed 
their  fellows,  and  so  they  dared  the  stocks  and  the 
lock-up  and  the  stripes,  which  were  sure  to  be  their 
portion  when  they  did  come  back.  Lady  came  back 
once,  for  in  June  1788  she  had  a baby  girl.  In 
January  1791  she  is  among  the  invalids  and  super- 
annuated. But  life  among  the  sick  evidently  did  not 
suit  her — it  probably  was  no  bed  of  roses — for  in 
the  following  September  she  left  her  three-years-old 
Diana  and  ran  away,  and  when  the  book  closed  three 
months  later  she  was  still  away. 

Though,  apparently,  they  superannuated  the  slaves 
very  young,  we  may  be  very  sure  they  did  not  super- 
annuate them  before  they  were  actually  obliged,  so 
that  we  find  they  were  old  and  useless  when  they 
should  have  been  in  their  prime.  A slave  had  no 
proper  stimulus  to  labour.  As  a rule,  he  was  assured 
of  enough  to  eat  when  he  was  too  old  to  labour,  and 
practically  he  had  little  more  at  any  stage  of  his 
career. 

The  deaths,  of  course,  came  in  under  ‘‘Decrease 
of  Negroes,”  and  they  died  so  often  of  “Old  Age,” 
poor  things,  that  I wonder  what  constituted  “Old 
Age”  in  those  days.  But  sometimes  they  died 
of  “yaws,”  and  “a  consumption,”  and  “Pluresy.” 
Sometimes  the  children  died  of  “Worm  fever,”  of 
“Locked  Jaw,”  “of  Fever  and  Sore  Throat,”  “of 
Cold  and  Sore  Throat,”  and  Little  Prince  was 
drowned.  One  of  the  men  named  Dick  has  my 
sincerest  sympathy.  He  is  bought  from  Brailsford 
as  “Able,”  a couple  of  years  later  he  is  “sickly,” 


142 


THE  PLANTATION 


then  he  has  “ Bone  ach,”  and  finally  on  the  1st  April 
1791  he  is  entered  as  “Died  of  a sudden  death,” 
which  is  crossed  out,  and  “an  Asthma”  put- 
instead.  He  evidently  struggled  in  agonising  fashion 
at  intervals,  till  at  length  his  heart  gave  out  and 
he  was  at  peace. 

And  one  of  the  sad  untold  stories  of  the  book  lies 
l)ehind  the  entry  on  the  24th  January  1791:  “By 
Rang’d  himself  in  the  woods,  one  of  the  new  negro 
men  bought  of  liainford.”  He  had  been  bought  on 
the  5th  of  the  same  month,  and  he  waited  hopelessly, 
or  perhaps  hoping,  nineteen  days,  and  then  he  ended 
it,  because  for  a slave  there  was  no  future  to  which 
it  was  worth  looking  forward.  He  is  entered  in  the 
book  as  remorselessly  and  as  carefully  as  the  steer 
Hymen  who  “Broke  his  neck  in  the  Penn.” 

Very  occasionally  does  the  decrease  of  the  slaves 
come  from  the  slaves  being  freed.  But  once  or 
twice  it  does.  In  the  year  1787  Mulatto  Nelly  and 
Quadroon  Kitty  and  Quadroon  Bessy  were  “manu- 
mized,”  and  Mulatto  Nelly  is  sent  away.  Perhaps 
the  father  desired  to  cut  off  from  his  little  daughters 
all  slave  influence,  even  that  of  their  mother ; for  I 
presume  Nelly  was  their  mother.  And  I wonder 
w^ere  the  little  girls  the  daughters  of  Mr  Doubt,  for 
really  it  does  not  look  as  if  the  other  men  could 
afford  to  free  their  children. 

They  do  not  give  us  an  inventory  of  the  furnitoe 
of  the  Great  House,  but  in  the  overseer’s  house  most 
things  are  set  down  when  the  book  opens.  In  the 
hall,  in  addition  to  tables  and  chairs  and  a “Beaufett,” 
they  had  six  silver  tablespoons  and  five  silver  tea- 
spoons, five  cups  and  saucers,  fifteen  wine-glasses, 
four  tumblers,  and  one  wine  decanter.  In  the 
overseer’s  room  he  had  a mahogany  bed  and  a small 
mahogany  bed,  and,  of  course,  a feather  bed — every 


FEATHER  BEDS 


143 


room  except  the  hall  had  one  of  these  luxuries.  In 
August  in  Jamaica ! With  the  shutters  close  for 
fear  of  the  slaves ! ! In  the  Great  House  at  the  Hyde 
the  bedrooms  were  strangely  small  and  confined 
when  compared  with  the  hall  out  of  which  they 
opened,  and  I said  so  once  to  the  doctor.  He 
laughed.  He  knew  his  old-time  Jamaica. 

‘‘The  men  who  built  in  those  times,”  said  he, 
“ didn’t  worry  about  bedrooms.  The  dining-hall  was 
the  thing ! They  sat  there  and  drank  rum  punch 
till — well,  till  it  didn’t  matter  whether  they  slept 
under  the  table  or  were  bundled  out  into  the  garden  ! ” 

But  even  if  they  were,  shall  we  say  “merry,”  at 
Worthy  Park,  I think  the  feather  beds  must  have 
been  aggravating  things. 

The  overseer  kept  in  his  room,  too,  the  brands 
with  which  they  marked  the  slaves — at  least  such,  I 
suppose,  were  one  silver  mark  L.P.  and  one  silver 
stamp  L.P.  He  had  a “Sett  of  Gold  Weights  and 
Scales  ” — I presume  for  weighing  gold,  and  not  made 
of  the  precious  metal,  though  where  they  got  the 
gold  to  weigh  I do  not  know^ ; and  there  was  a keg 
of  gunpowder  and  thirty-three  gun  flints,  kept  there, 
I suppose,  to  be  under  his  eye. 

The  doctor  was  not  of  much  consequence,  if  we 
may  judge  of  the  furnishing  of  the  “Doctor’s 
Chamber.”  It  had  only  a “common  bed”  and  little 
else  except  the  linen  chest,  in  which  there  were 
fifteen  pairs  of  fine  sheets  which  strikes  me  as  lavish 
in  contrast  to  the  paucity  of  everything  else.  There 
were  eleven  fine  pillow-cases,  one  pair  of  Osnaburg 
sheets,  two  pillow-cases  of  the  same  stuff,  two  fine 
tablecloths,  to  be  used  on  gala  days  I expect,  and 
seven  Osnaburg  tablecloths.  But  there  were  only 
three  Osnaburg  towels,  so  that  I am  not  surprised 
at  the  next  entry,  “ 1 Jack  towel  & the  other  cut  for 


144 


THE  PLANTATION 


hand  towels.”  Seven  glass  cloths  might  be  managed 
with,  I suppose,  but  why  enter  “ 1 do.  useless  and 
2 useless  sideboard  cloths  ” ? 

It  is  evident  that  in  July  1791  something  happened 
to  the  ruling  power  on  Worthy  Park,  for  another 
inventory  is  taken  of  the  household  goods  and  slaves, 
and  one,  Arthur  McKenzie,  who  is  not  otherwise 
mentioned,  remarks  in  a thin  straggling  hand : 
N.B. — By  the  sundries  found  in  and  about  the 
works,  the  written  account  is  very  eroneous,”  (so 
he  is  pleased  to  spell  the  word),  '‘in  particular 
speaking  Table  linen.  Glass,  Mugs,  Cups,  Musquito 
Netts,  &c.,  &c. — Arthur  McKenzie.” 

Then  underneath,  “Was  obliged  to  purchase 
Sheeting”  (oh,  how  careless  they  must  have  been 
with  those  sheets),  “ Tablecloaths  & Butter,  Candles, 
and  send  f of  the  Soap  sent  to  the  Great  House  for 
the  Works;  buy  also  knives,  forks,  spoons  & send 
6 silver  spoons  from  the  18  at  the  Great  House. — 
1st  August  ’91.” 

I don’t  wonder  at  his  having  to  purchase  knives, 
for  the  “ Boy’s  Pantry  ” was  certainly  scantily  furnished 
except  in  the  matter  of  “ Wash  hand  basons  ” of  which 
there  were  ten,  but  four  were  sent  to  the  Great  House. 
There  were  “9  Earthen  Dishes  and  6 shallow  plates, 
1 Tureen,  8 Pewter  dishes  and  only  3 new  knives 
and  3 new  forks,  3 old  knives  and  four  useless,”  so  it 
rather  looks  as  if  once  the  overseer  and  a couple  of 
book-keepers  had  been  provided  with  a knife  and 
fork  apiece,  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  there  must 
have  been  some  occasionally,  had  to  eat  their  food 
with  their  fingers. 

In  the  “Dry  Store”  they  had  all  sorts  of  things. 
Notice  Posts,  though  considering  not  half  a dozen 
people  on  the  estate  could  read,  I wonder  what  they 
wanted  notice  posts  for.  They  had  “Shovels  and 


BAD  STORES 


145 


Broad  Axes,  Bullet  Moulds,  Old  Bayonets,  Negro 
Hatts  and  Iron  Crows/’  The  Herring  Store  did  not 
contain  herrings,  at  least  when  the  inventory  was 
taken,  but  had  four  large  empty  oil  jars,  half  a barrel 
of  turpentine,  alum,  roach  alum,  whatever  that  may 
be,  and  lamp-black.  These  do  not  seem  to  be  exactly 
in  their  right  place  in  the  herring  store,  but  Thomas 
Kitson  examined  the  inventory  and  found  it  correct. 

They  did  use  a great  many  barrels  of  herrings, 
for  the  Betsey,  Captain  Laurie  from  London,  and  the 
Diana,  Captain  Thomas  Seaward  from  Cork,  brought 
out  their  stores,  Osnaburg  and  baize  and  '‘Negro 
hatts”  and  check  from  London,  and  salt  beef  and 
pork  and  herrings,  to  say  nothing  of  tallow  and 
candles  and  soap  from  Cork.  That  they  should  need 
to  bring  fish  to  an  island  where  the  sea  teems  with 
it,  and  beef  and  pork  to  a place  where  the  cattle  and 
swdne  would  run  wild  and  multiply  in  the  woods 
if  they  were  left  to  themselves,  is  a curious  com- 
mentary on  the  wasteful  fashion  in  which  the  country 
was  managed. 

Again  and  again  it  is  entered  that  the  herrings 
served  out  were  bad  or  "mash’d,”  but  I am  afraid 
the  slaves  got  them  all  the  same.  Possibly  they  did 
not  consider  that  bad  herrings  constituted  cruelty 
to  a slave.  The  pork  and  beef  were  for  the  white 
men,  and  a great  deal  of  the  unappetising  stuff  they 
' seem  to  have  eaten.  In  one  year  the  Diana  brought 
out  15  barrels  of  beef  and  70  barrels  of  herrings, 
4 firkins  of  butter  and  6 kegs  of  tallow ; yet  they 
bought  2^  barrels  of  beef  from  Kingston,  2 kegs  of 
tallow  and  5 firkins  of  butter.  That  they  should 
have  bought  in  the  same  year  a cask  and  two-thirds 
of  a tierce  of  codfish,  and  4 barrels  of  American 
herrings  is  not  so  surprising  considering  the  disparity 
between  the  negroes  and  the  wLite  men  who  at  most 


146 


THE  PLANTATION 


numbered  seven.  In  three  months  they  served  out 
to  the  slaves  20  barrels  of  herrings. 

There  is  an  echo  of  the  famine  that  struck  the 
island  in  1786  when  15,000  slaves  died  of  starvation, 
for  in  1790  they  bought  for  the  use  of  the  slaves 
11,800  lbs.  of  cocos,  that  is  a root  not  unlike  a yam, 
1400  lbs.  of  yams,  and  500  plantains,  which  last, 
I suppose,  were  stems  of  plantains,  as  500  plantains 
would  not  have  gone  far.  Worthy  Park  had  a 
“mountain”  like  many  other  estates,  for  often  the  cattle 
are  entered  as  having  died  of  “Poverty  and  Meagre- 
ness on  the  mountain,”  or  as  falling  into  the  sink  hole 
on  the  “mountain,”  and  presumably  the  slaves  had 
grounds  there  where  they  grew  provisions,  but  as 
in  famines  of  a later  date,  the  yams  failed,  and  there 
were  no  heads  to  plant  for  the  new  crop  which  may 
possibly  account  for  the  large  number  of  cocos  bought. 

Once  a year  the  negroes  were  served  out  “ cloath- 
ing.”  An  ordinary  man  or  woman  got  6 yards  of 
Osnaburg,  3 yards  of  baize,  and  1 “hatt,”  but  the 
principal  men  and  women  got  a little  more.  Lucretia 
serving  at  the  Great  House  once  got  12  yards  of 
Osnaburg,  and  most  of  the  tradesmen,  the  carpenters 
and  the  sawyers  and  blacksmiths,  got  10  yards  and 
sometimes  6 yards  of  check  as  well. 

“The  negro  women,”  says  Lesley,  writing  as  late 
as  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  “go  many 
of  them  quite  naked.  They  do  not  know  what 
shame  is,  and  are  sm’prised  at  an  European’s  bashful- 
ness, who  perhaps  turns  his  head  aside  at  the 
sight.  . . . Their  Masters  give  them  a kind  of 
petticoat,  but  they  do  not  care  to  wear  it.  In  the 
towns  they  are  obliged  to  do  it,  and  some  of  them 
there  go  neat  enougli ; but  these  are  the  favourites 
of  young  Squires  who  keep  them  for  a certain  use.” 

They  must  have  been  a forlorn  and  ragged  crew 


THE  BIRTH-RATE 


147 


of  savages  the  book-keepers  saw  out  into  the  fields 
every  morning  at  daybreak.  They  evidently  made 
them  work  in  the  hot  and  glaring  sunshine,  holeing 
for  canes,  cutting  canes,  and  carting  manure  on  their 
heads,  this  last  a job  much  hated,  and  the  whites  never 
remembered,  if  they  ever  knew,  that  no  black  man 
or  woman  works  of  his  own  free  will  in  the  glare 
of  the  tropical  sun.  On  the  Gold  Coast  I have  heard 
the  people  going  out  into  the  fields  long  before 
daylight,  but  I have  never  seen  men  or  women 
working  hard  during  the  midday  hours.  This  is 
only  common  sense,  and  possibly  much  of  the  sick- 
ness that  decimated  the  slaves  was  due  to  this  cause. 
There  is  a record  of  one  humanitarian  who  discovered 
that  it  would  be  well  to  provide  nurses  for  the  infants. 
Every  woman  had  to  go  back  to  field  work  a fort- 
night after  her  baby  was  born.  She  must  needs  take 
the  child,  and  so  great  was  the  heat  that  sometimes 
the  mother  when  she  had  time  to  attend  to  it  found 
that  the  little  one  on  her  back  was  dead ! 

And  yet  these  slave-owners  desired  children  very 
much  and  they  deplored  the  deaths  as  so  much  money 
gone  from  their  pockets,  just  as  man  now-a-days 
regrets  when  his  calf  or  his  foal  dies.  They  grumble 
very  much  because  the  slaves  do  not  increase  as  they 
think  they  ought.  They  gave  no  thought  to  morals, 
and  anybody  might  father  a woman’s  child.  But 
considering  all  things  I think  they  grumbled  un- 
reasonably. No  wild  animals  increase  rapidly  in 
captivity,  but  in  five  years  there  were  forty  children 
born  on  Worthy  Park,  that  is  nearly  23  per  thousand — 
not  so  very  bad  considering  that  the  rate  for  London 
in  the  year  1919  among  a free  people  was  24*8.  But 
this  was  discounted  by  the  number  of  deaths  in 
infancy.  Matthew  Lewis  tells  of  the  ravages  of 
tetanus  among  the  newly  born  on  his  estate  in  the 


148 


THE  PLANTATION 


beginning  of  the  last  century,  and  neither  he  nor  any 
one  else  had  an  idea  of  the  cause  or  how  it  might  be 
prevented. 

The  midwife,  the  “ Garundee,”  told  him  that  till 
after  the  ninth  day  they  had  no  hope  of  the  new- 
born babies.  It  was,  had  she  but  known  it,  a sad 
commentary  on  her  own  want  of  cleanliness. 

The  children  of  the  white  men  had  perhaps  a 
better  chance  of  being  reared  than  those  of  the 
slaves,  because  the  women  who  lived  with  them  had 
an  easier  time.  Their  children  were  slaves  like  the 
others,  but  it  was  the  custom  not  to  put  them  to 
field  work ; the  boys  they  made  artisans  and  the  girls 
were  trained  as  house-servants,  and  Lewis  says  the 
other  slaves  paid  them  a certain  deference,  always - 
honouring  the  girls  with  the  title  of  “ Miss.” 

‘‘My  mulatto  housemaid,”  says  he,  “is  always 
called  ‘ Miss  Polly  ’ by  her  fellow-servant  Phillis.” 

The  last  entry  in  the  Worthy  Park  slave  book 
with  George  Doubt  as  Superintendent — I feel  as  if 
I knew  George  Doubt — was  on  the  28th  June  1791. 
Then  apparently  something  happened,  and  Arthur 
M‘Kenzie  made  his  moan  about  the  careless  way 
in  which  the  inventory  was  taken.  When  the  returns 
for  the  last  quarter  1791  are  sent  in  to  the  Yestr)' 
there  is  quite  a new  departure.  The  “ Mliite 
People”  are  headed  by  Pose  Price,  Esq.,  and  the 
Pev.  John  Venicomb  bracketed  together  as  having 
arrived  on  the  1st  December,  and  we  immediately 
imagine  the  son  of  the  proprietor  accompanied  by 
his  bear  leader.  But  there  is  a still  greater  departm'e 
from  the  usual  run  of  things  on  the  23rd  of  the  same 
month  when  Edward  Phelps  and  Sussannah  Phelps 
are  set  down.  So  that  the  very  last  entry  of  white 
people  in  the  book  mentions  a woman  ! 

Was  it  all  worth  while  ? Even  after  I have  read 


WAS  IT  WORTH  WHILE? 


149 


the  whole  very  carefully.  I am  not  in  a position  to 
judge.  Only  it  seems  to  me  the  expenses  were  very 
great.  Not  only  was  there  the  upkeep  of  these 
people,  but  they  were  always  buying  new  negroes 
and  in  addition  to  that  quite  a considerable  sum  was 
paid  out  to  negroes  hired — slave  gangs — to  do  the 
jobs  for  which  those  on  the  estate  had  neither 
strength  nor  time. 

Occasionally  we  get  the  returns.  In  January 
1790  James  Fraser,  one  of  the  six  overseers,  certifies 
that  the  crop  returns  are  248  hogsheads,  that  is  124 
tons  of  sugar,  and  85  puncheons  of  rum.  Set  that 
against  the  510  tons  of  sugar  and  301  puncheons  of 
rum  which  Mr  Fred  Clarke  gives  me  as  the  returns 
from  the  same  estate  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1920. 
Of  course  to  compare  exactly,  I should  have  the 
wages  returns  of  the  present  day,  the  cost  of  im- 
proved machinery  and  various  other  things,  but 
looking  at  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  outsider 
it  certainly  looks  as  if  it  were  not  worth  it. 

Very,  very  slowly  we  move  towards  perfection, 
but  we  do  move.  Perhaps  one  hundred  and  thirty 
years  hence,  some  writer  will  read  of  1921  with  as 
much  wonder  as  I read  in  this  old  slave  book  of  a 
day  that  is  done. 


L 


CHAPTEE  VII 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 

Considering  that  every  Great  House  was  surrounded 
by  hundreds  of  these  alien  dark  people,  most  of 
them  dumbly  resentful  of  their  condition,  it  is  to 
me  a little  surprising  that  the  white  man  ever  brought 
out  his  wife  and  children  to  share  his  home.  And 
yet  he  did  sometimes.  Of  course,  nothing  is  more 
certain  than  that  we  grow  accustomed  to  a danger 
that  is  always  threatening.  There  are  people  who 
take  matches  into  powder  factories  and  those  who 
dwell  on  the  slopes  of  Vesuvius  and  Etna.  From 
the  earliest  days  the  Jamaicans  had  been  used  to 
forced  labour,  they  were  very  sure  they  could  not 
work  the  plantations  without  it,  and  that  the  slaves 
had  to  be  broken  in  and  guarded,  came  all  in  the 
day’s  work. 

The  first  difficulty  after  the  buying  of  the  slaves 
was  what  they  called  the  “seasoning.”  The  earlier 
settlers  first  used  the  word,  but  it  came  to  be  applied 
specially  to  the  settling  down  of  the  slaves,  though 
it  seems  to  me  simply  to  mean  the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  A certain  number  of  newly  arrived  slaves  were 
sure  to  die.  It  was  not  the  climate  that  killed  them, 
but  the  breaking  in  of  a free  savage  unaccustomed 
to  work,  at  least  not  to  work  with  the  regularity, 
and  at  the  times  the  white  man  expected  of  him. 

He  was  an  exile,  he  was  lonely,  he  was  driven  to 
160 


[Face  page  150. 


A Great  House. 


CRUELTY  AND  STARVATION 


151 


this  hated  work  with  the  whip,  he  could  not  under- 
stand what  was  said  to  him,  he  could  not  make 
his  wants  known,  and  soon  realised  it  would  avail 
him  little  if  he  did,  and  he  pined  and  died. 

In  Lesley’s  time,  and  I am  afraid  long  after,  the 
slaves  were  grossly  underfed. 

‘"’Tis  sad,”  he  writes,  ‘‘to  see  the  mean  shifts  to 
which  these  poor  creatures  are  reduced.  You’ll  see 
them  daily  about  twelve  o’clock  when  they  turn  in 
from  work  scraping  the  dunghills  at  every  gentleman’s 
door”  (I  do  like  that  touch)  “for  bones  which 
they  break  extremely  small,  boil  and  eat  the  broth.” 
He  adds  that  he  hardly  cares  to  speak  of  their 
sufferings  because  of  the  regard  he  had  for  their 
masters.  And  then  he  goes  on  to  do  so.  He  says 
that  the  most  trivial  error  was  punished  with  a 
terrible  whipping,  “ I have  seen  some  of  them  treated 
in  that  cruel  manner  for  no  other  reason  but  to 
satisfy  the  brutish  pleasure  of  an  overseer.  ...  I 
have  seen  their  bodies  in  a Gore  of  Blood,  the  Skin 
torn  off  their  backs  with  the  cruel  Whip,  beaten. 
Pepper  and  Salt  rubbed  on  the  Wounds  and  a large 
stick  of  Sealing  Wax  dropped  leisurely  upon  them. 
It  is  no  wonder  if  the  horrid  pain  of  such  inhuman 
tortures  incline  them  to  rebel;  at  the  same  time  it 
must  be  confessed  they  are  very  perverse,  which  is 
owing  to  the  many  disadvantages  they  lie  under, 
and  the  bad  example  they  daily  see.” 

A man  had  a right  to  kill  his  slave  or  mutilate 
him  if  he  ran  away,  but  a man  who  killed  a slave 
out  of  “Wilfulness,  Wantonness,  or  Bloody  minded- 
ness,” was  to  suffer  three  months’  imprisonment 
and  pay  £50  to  the  owner  of  the  slave.  It  was 
merely  a question  of  value,  the  slave  was  not 
considered.  If  a servant  killed  a slave  he  was  to 
get  thirty-nine  lashes  on  the  bare  back,  and  serve 


152  SLAVE  REBELLIONS 

the  owner  of  the  slave  after  his  time  with  his  master 
had  expired  four  years.  That  is  to  say,  he  had  to 
pay  for  the  loss  of  the  slave’s  services.  Indeed  the 
negro’s  life  in  those  days  was  by  no  means  safe- 
guarded, for  if  a man  killed  by  night  a slave  found 
out  “ of  his  owner’s  grounds,  road,  or  common  path, 
such  person  was  not  to  be  subject  to  any  damage 
or  action  for  the  same.”  That  is  to  say,  the  wander- 
ing slave  was  a danger  to  the  community,  and  might 
be  killed  on  suspicion  as  might  some  beast  of  prey. 
There  was  a law,  too,  that  all  slaves’  houses  should 
be  searched  once  a fortnight  for  “Clubs,  Wooden 
Swords,  and  mischievious  Weapons.”  Any  found 
were  to  be  burnt.  Stolen  goods  were  also  to  be 
sought,  and  “ Flesh  not  honestly  come  by  ” ; for  slaves 
were  forbidden  to  have  meat  in  their  possession. 
The  punishment  was  death,  and  in  the  slave  book 
of  Eose  Hall  after  this  law  had  fallen  into  desuetude 
there  is  an  entry  under  Monday,  28th  September 
1824:  “Killed  a steer  named  ‘Porter’  in  conse- 
quence of  his  leg  being  broken,  sunk  him  in  the 
sea  to  prevent  the  negroes  from  eating  it,  and  having 
the  like  accidents  occur.”  It  does  seem  hard  so 
to  waste  the  good  meat  that  the  negroes  craved, 
poor  things,  as  children  nowadays  crave  sugar.  For 
a negro  does  not  regard  meat  as  food  even  now. 
It  is  a treat,  a luxury. 

In  Kingston  and  other  towns  the  notice  ran, 
“No  person  whatever  shall  fire  any  small  arms  after 
eight  at  night  unless  upon  alarm  of  insurrection 
which  is  to  be  by  the  Discharge  of  Four  Muskets 
or  small  arms  distinctly.”  The  whole  atmosphere 
was  one  of  fear.  No  negro  or  mulatto  was  permitted 
to  row  in  any  wherry  or  canoe  without  at  least  one 
white  man,  and  all  boats  of  every  description  had 
to  be  chained  up  and  their  oars  and  sails  safely 


WORKING  BOTH  WAYS 


153 


disposed,  and  so  important  was  this  rule  considered 
that  any  master  of  a craft  who  broke  it  was  fined 
£10.  There  was  a punishment  of  four  years’  imprison- 
ment for  stealing  or  taking  away  any  craft,  and  it  is 
clear  this  had  reference  not  to  its  value  but  to  the 
assistance  such  craft  might  be  to  the  common  enemy. 

A negro  slave  striking  any  person  except  in 
defence  of  his  master’s  property  — observe  he  had 
none  of  his  own — was  for  the  first  offence  to  be 
severely  whipt,  for  the  second  to  be  severely 
whipt,  have  his  or  her  nose  slit  and  face  burnt 
in  some  place,  and  for  the  third  it  was  left  to  two 
Justices  or  three  freeholders  to  inflict  “Death  or 
whatever  punishment  they  shall  think  fit.” 

When  slaves  were  first  introduced  the  master 
seems  to  have  had  absolute  power  of  life  and  death, 
and  indeed  long  after,  when  it  was  beginning  to 
dawn  on  the  ruling  race  that  the  black  man  had 
some  rights,  it  was  still  difficult  to  punish  a cruel 
master,  because  no  black  man’s  evidence  could  be 
received  against  a white  man.  This  rule,  too, 
sometimes  worked  both  ways. 

There  was  once  an  overseer  who  was  cruelly 
unjust  to  the  book-keeper  under  him.  As  we  have 
seen,  the  underlings  subsisted  very  largely  on  salt 
food.  This  overseer,  disliking  his  book-keeper, 
decreed  that  his  salt  fish  should  be  exposed  to  the 
hot  sun  until  it  was  rotten  and  then  cooked  and 
offered  to  him  in  the  usual  way.  The  young  man 
protested,  and  the  overseer  declared  he  had  fish 
out  of  the  same  barrel  and  found  nothing  wrong 
with  it.  Finally  the  exasperated  book-keeper  came 
up  to  the  house  and  in  desperation  shot  his  tormentor. 
But  he  was  never  brought  to  justice,  because  there 
were  only  slaves  present  and  no  white  man  could 
be  convicted  on  the  testimony  of  a slave. 


154 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


When  we  read  the  slave  code  we  do  well  to 
remember  not  how  men  are  punished  nowadays, 
but  how  they  were  all  punished,  black  and  white, 
in  the  seventeenth,  eighteenth,  and  the  first  part 
of  the  nineteenth  centuries.  Laws  were  made  for 
the  rich,  and  the  poor  man  without  influence  must 
go  under. 

And  having  said  all  this,  it  perhaps  seems  curious 
to  add  that  we  ought  always  to  remember  that  the 
average  planter  treated  his  slaves  as  well  as  he 
knew  how.  Even  now  we  are  always  advancing. 
The  housemistress  of  1921  has  to  give  her  maids 
of  right  what  the  housemistress  of  1900  would  have 
thought  ridiculous,  even  as  a privilege.  It  was  to 
the  planter  s interest  that  his  slaves  should  be  in 
good  health  and  contented,  but  what  none  of  them 
understood  was  that  no  man  should  be  subject  to 
the  whim  of  another.  The  wrong  was  in  enslaving 
a man.  How  should  they  understand  it?  Slavery 
had  been  a custom  from  time  immemorial.  Even 
in  this  twentieth  century  I have  heard  one  of  the 
best  and  kindest  women  I know  momming,  ‘‘But 
if  the  poor  are  all  so  well  off  what  shall  we  do 
for  servants  ? ” She  found  it  difficult  to  believe 
that  Providence  would  not  arrange  for  someone  to 
serve  her.  So  the  planters,  I am  sure,  believed 
that  Providence  had  placed  the  black  man  in  Africa 
specially  for  their  use.  Why  he  was  not  contented 
with  his  lot,  and  a “good”  slave,  they  could  never 
understand.  And  yet  the  black  people  didn’t  even 
mind  dying,  to  such  sore  straits  were  the  poor  things 
reduced. 

“They  look  upon  death,”  declares  Lesley,  “as 
a blessing.  . . . ’Tis  indeed  surprising  to  see  with 
what  courage  and  intrepidity  some  of  them  will 
meet  their  fate  and  be  merry  in  their  last  moments.” 


AN  EVER  PRESENT  DANGER 


155 


He  had  seen  more  deaths  than  we  of  the 
twentieth  century  can  contemplate  with  equanimity, 
and  many  runaways  trying  to  better  their  lot.  It 
was  probably  easier  for  the  first  slaves  to  run 
away  than  at  the  time  we  come  across  them  in  the 
slave  books  of  Worthy  Park  and  Eose  Hall.  The 
lonelier  parts  of  the  island  were  abandoned  because 
of  these  runaway  negroes,  who  banded  themselves 
together  and  were  a constant  danger  to  the  isolated 
settler.  And  a place  in  fertile  Jamaica  abandoned 
soon  becomes  densest  jungle,  affording  a still  more 
useful  shelter  to  people  accustomed  to  such  surround- 
ings. Even  though  the  life  of  a savage  in  the  woods 
was  a hard  one,  it  was  better  than  the  almost  certain 
fate  that  awaited  them  if  they  came  in  and  gave 
themselves  up.  I conclude  it  was  only  when  a slave 
found  himself  alone  that  he  returned  of  his  own 
free  will.  If  he  found  companions  he  stayed. 

This  of  course  it  was  that  made  of  the  Maroons 
such  an  ever  present  danger,  free  as  they  were  among 
a black  population  that  outnumbered  the  white  ten 
to  one.  The  settler  had  always  an  enemy  within 
the  gates. 

“This  bad  success,”  mourns  the  historian  when 
the  whites  have  failed  to  overcome  the  Maroons, 
“encouraged  Gentlemen’s  slaves  to  rebel.” 

The  trouble  was  that  to  keep  the  slaves  under, 
a great  quantity  of  arms  and  ammunition  had  to 
be  stored  on  the  plantations,  and  when  they  rose 
this  was  likely  to  be  turned  against  their  owners. 
Did  one  of  those  overseers  at  Worthy  Park  ever 
toss  restlessly  on  his  feather  bed  and  wonder  what 
would  be  his  fate  if  some  of  those  slaves,  the  “ill- 
disposed”  or  “skulkers,”  rushed  his  hot  room  and 
possessed  themselves  of  that  store  of  powder  ? 

It  is  only  natural  that  history  should  mention 


156 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


the  rebellions  that  made  their  mark,  and  never  those 
that  were  nipped  in  the  bud.  But  those  that  had 
a measure  of  success  were  numerous  enough.  There 
were  no  less  than  four  between  1678  and  1691, 
in  the  three  last  of  which  many  white  people  were 
murdered.  One  of  these  was  at  Sutton's,  a plantation 
near  the  centre  of  the  island. 

I have  been  to  Sutton’s.  A long  low  house  it  is, 
not  the  first  house,  the  slaves  burned  that,  behind 
it  are  the  green  hills  and  in  front  red  lilies  grow 
beneath  the  bananas  after  the  rain.  The  women 
who  were  born  there  say  it  is  the  loveliest  plantation 
in  an  island  of  lovely  plantations.  And  here  at 
the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  400  slaves,  stark 
naked  savages  with  hoes  and  machetes  in  their  hands, 
stormed  the  house,  and  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers 
bore  all  before  them.  They  murdered  their  master 
and  every  white  man  there,  and  seized  all  the  arms 
kept  to  be  used  against  them.  Fifty  muskets  and 
blunderbusses  and  other  arms  they  took,  great 
quantities  of  shot  and  four  small  field  pieces — 
(in  such  fear  they  had  been  held) — and  then  they 
marched  on,  raiding  other  plantations  and  killing 
every  white  person  they  could  lay  their  hands  upon. 

Why  they  did  not  keep  their  freedom  I do  not 
know,  but  once  the  whites  were  roused  they  had  no 
chance.  They  fled  back  to  Sutton’s,  and  driven  out 
of  that  they  fired  the  cane  pieces.  Then  a party  of 
whites  came  up  behind  and  completely  routed  them. 
Many  were  killed,  some  escaped  to  the  hills,  but  200 
laid  down  their  arms  and  surrendered.  Very  un- 
wisely. For  though  some  were  pardoned  our 
chronicler  declares  that  most  of  those  who  submitted 
“met  with  that  fate  which  they  well  deserved.” 

In  the  eighteenth  century  there  were  at  least 
nineteen  terrible  disturbances,  sometimes  called 


THE  GREAT  REBELLION 


157 


rebellions,  sometimes  conspiracies,  to  murder  the 
whites,  and  in  the  thirty-two  years  of  the  nineteenth 
century  that  elapsed  before  the  apprenticeship  system 
that  heralded  the  freeing  of  the  slave  was  introduced, 
there  were  no  less  than  six  rebellions,  conspiracies 
and  mutinies,  to  say  nothing  of  the  isolated  murders 
that  must  have  been  done  and  were  not  worth 
recording  as  history. 

Not  only  were  these  rebellions  sanguinary  but 
they  were  expensive.  The  cost  of  putting  down  the 
last  in  1832  was  £161,596,  without  taking  into  account 
the  damage  sustained  by  property  and  the  loss  to  the 
community  of  the  lives  sacrificed.  If  the  black  man 
suffered,  white  Jamaica  too  paid  very  heavily  indeed 
for  her  slaves. 

The  Great  Rebellion  that  was  long  remembered 
in  Jamaica  was  the  rebellion  of  1760,  and  it  broke 
out  in  St  Mary’s  Parish  on  the  Frontier  Plantation 
belonging  to  a man  named  Ballard  Beckford.  The 
adjoining  estate  was  Trinity,  belonging  to  Zachary 
Bayley,  the  maternal  uncle  of  Bryan  Edwards  the 
historian,  but  in  his  book  we  only  get  a tantalising 
account  that  sets  us  longing  for  more  details. 

Of  the  leaders,  their  barbarous  names,”  says 
Bridges,  forgetting  that  the  white  man  had  probably 
supplied  those  names,  ‘'were  Tacky  and  Jamaica,” 
and  Tacky  was  a man  who  had  been  a chief  in 
“Guiney.”  That,  though  Edwards  did  not  know 
it,  meant  that  he  had  been  accustomed  to  a certain 
amount  of  savage  grandeur;  had  been  dressed  in 
silk  of  bright  colours,  and  wore  a necklace  of  gold 
and  anklets  and  armlets  of  the  same  metal.  On  his 
fingers  and  bare  black  toes  had  been  rings  of  rough 
nuggets.  He  had  been  wont  to  ride  in  a hammock, 
as  King  George  rides  in  his  State  coach,  and  with 
an  umbrella  carried  by  slaves  high  over  his  head ; to 


158 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


the  great  discomfort  of  the  slaves,  but  it  had  marked 
his  high  estate.  He  would  move  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  barbaric  music  and  on  great  feast  days,  such 
as  that  of  his  accession,  his  ‘"stool,”  the  symbol  of 
his  power,  really  a carved  wooden  seat,  was  literally 
drenched  in  the  blood  of  many  unfortunate  men  and 
women.  I remember  passing  through  an  Ashanti 
town  on  the  day  of  the  Coronation  of  our  present 
King.  There  was  a great  feast  and  all  the  minor 
chiefs  for  miles  round  had  come  in  to  celebrate 
and  all  the  stools  were  soaked  in  blood — sheep's 
blood. 

“Not  long  ago,”  said  the  great  chief,  “it  would 
have  been  men's.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  the  young  doctor  who  was  with  me, 
“ sheep's  is  better.” 

“ Perhaps,”  said  the  African  potentate  doubtfully, 
and  it  was  clear  he  was  thinking  regretfully  of  the 
days  when  there  really  would  have  been  something 
like  a decent  sacrifice. 

In  Tacky's  days,  too,  when  the  chief  died,  a great 
pit  would  be  dug,  his  bier  lowered  into  it  and  round 
it  would  be  seated  a large  number  of  his  harem  who 
would  accompany  their  lord  and  master  as  attendants 
to  the  shades,  and  lucky  indeed  might  they  count 
themselves  if  they  had  their  throats  cut  first  and 
were  not  buried  alive. 

Even  so  late  as  1908  in  Tarkwa  I remember  a 
chief — not  a great  one — dying,  and  at  the  same 
time  there  came  to  the  District  Commissioner  a 
woman  complaining  that  her  adopted  daughter,  an 
euphemism  for  a household  slave,  had  disappeared. 
And  the  District  Commissioner  said  he  was  certain, 
though  he  could  not  prove  it,  that  the  girl  had  been 
stolen  and  sacrificed  that  the  soul  of  the  chief  might 
not  go  unaccompanied  on  his  last  journey,  as  that 


A BID  FOR  FREEDOM  159 

troublesome  British  Government  had  set  its  face 
against  the  sacrifice  of  wives. 

Clearly  Tacky  could  not  have  objected  to  slavery 
as  an  institution,  he  only  objected  to  it  as  applied 
to  himself.  And  he  was  accustomed  to  bloodshed. 

On  those  two  plantations  where  the  rebellion 
started  were  over  100  Gold  Coast  negroes,  and  the 
historian  declares  they  had  never  received  the  least 
shadow  of  ill-treatment  from  the  time  of  their  arrival 
there.  Like  Tacky,  he  was  not  so  far  advanced  as  to 
realise  that  the  holding  of  a man  in  slavery  was  in 
itself  gross  ill-treatment.  We  can  hardly  blame  him 
if  he  did  not  think  ahead  of  his  times,  though  we 
more  enlightened  may  hold  a brief  for  Tacky  and 
those  Guinea  men,  brutal  as  they  undoubtedly  were. 

Mr  Bayley,  it  appears,  inspected  his  newly  pur- 
chased Africans,  was  pleased  with  the  stalwart  crew 
and  gave  out  to  them  with  his  own  hands  not  only 
clothing  but  knives.  Then  he  rode  off  to  Ballard's 
Valley,  an  estate  a few  miles  distant. 

The  Guinea  men  lost  no  time  in  making  a bid 
for  freedom.  At  daybreak,  in  the  morning,  Mr 
Bayley  was  wakened  by  a servant  with  the  informa- 
tion that  his  Trinity  negroes  had  revolted ; and 
the  people  who  brought  the  information  shouted 
that  the  insurgents  were  close  upon  their  heels.  Mr 
Bayley  seems  to  have  been  a man  of  action  and 
equal  to  the  occasion.  A council  was  held  at 
Ballard's  Valley,  the  house  that  could  be  most  easily 
defended  in  the  neighbourhood  was  selected,  and 
Mr  Bayley  mounted  his  horse  and  accompanied  by 
a servant  rode  out  to  warn  every  place  he  could 
reach.  But  first,  being  very  sure  the  revolted  slaves — 
his  slaves  at  any  rate — had  nothing  to  complain  of, 
he  rode  out  to  meet  them.  I can  imagine  that 
gentleman  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  shirt  and 


160 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


drawers,  in  the  dewy  tropical  morning,  his  broad 
straw  hat  over  a handkerchief  on  his  head,  a knife 
at  his  belt  and  pistols  at  his  holsters,  mounting  his 
horse  in  hot  haste  at  the  verandah  steps  and  riding 
straight  down  the  hill  with  his  bond-servant  behind 
him  shouting  to  those  who  watched  his  departure, 
perhaps  protesting  at  his  rashness,  that  he  would 
bring  the  ungodly  villains  to  their  bearings. 

But  he  had  barely  started  before  he  heard  the 
wild  ear-piercing  Koromantyn  yell  of  war,  and  saw 
below  him  on  the  hillside  a body  of  stark-naked 
negroes  marching  in  rude  order  for  the  overseer’s 
house  not  half  a mile  away.  He  looked  back.  The 
other  gentlemen  were  mounting  in  hot  haste,  making 
for  the  rendezvous,  rousing  the  country  as  they 
went  and  then — a brave  man  was  Zachary  Bayley — 
he  rode  towards  the  body  of  negroes.  They  did 
not  notice  him  at  first,  and  with  the  confidence  of 
the  white  man  he  went  towards  them  waving  his 
hat  and  shouting.  Truly  a brave  man,  for  100 
Ashantis  armed  with  muskets  and  knives,  yelling, 
shouting,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  with  fierce  eyes 
and  white  teeth  gleaming,  men  young  and  strong, 
chosen  for  their  strength,  are  not  to  be  lightly 
faced.  Had  they  all  come  on  he  could  not  possibly 
have  escaped,  but  the  negroes  were  always  keen 
on  plunder,  and  apparently  only  a few  turned  aside 
from  their  main  objective,  the  overseer’s  house,  and 
met  him  with  a discharge  of  muskets.  His  servant’s 
horse  was  shot  under  him — shocking  bad  shots  they 
must  have  been  to  do  so  little  damage — and  the 
chronicler  declares  they  both  narrowly  escaped  with 
their  lives.  I’d  have  liked  him  better  had  he  told 
me  how.  I expect  the  overseer’s  house  was  more 
interesting  than  a man  who,  if  put  to  it,  would 
certainly  show  fight.  At  least  he  found  discretion 


A DETERMINED  MAN 


161 


the  better  part  of  valour,  and  the  rest  of  the 
Koromantyns  went  on  to  the  overseer’s  house.  At 
Trinity  the  overseer  was  a man  named  Abraham 
Fletcher,  who  had  earned  the  respect  and  love  of 
the  negroes,  and  he  had  been  allowed  to  pass  through 
the  ranks  of  the  revolting  slaves  and  escape  scot- 
free.  I don’t  know  whether  he  was  the  man  who 
brought  the  news  to  Ballard’s  Valley.  But  they 
showed  no  such  mercy  here.  All  the  white  men 
in  that  overseer’s  house  they  butchered  before  they 
were  fairly  awake,  and  then  passed  on  towards  Port 
Maria.  There  were  some  among  them  evidently 
who  knew  the  ropes.  The  fort  at  Port  Maria  must 
have  been  guarded  with  singular  carelessness,  for 
they  slew  the  sentry,  and  seem  easily  to  have 
possessed  themselves  of  all  the  arms  and  ammuni- 
tion they  could  manage,  and  then  they  went  through 
the  country  slaying  and  burning. 

Luckily  they  stayed  to  burn.  It  gave  Zachary 
Bay  ley  time  to  ride  round  to  all  the  plantations 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

We  can  imagine  the  excited,  determined  man  on 
the  galloping  horse  dashing  up  the  hills  to  the 
Great  Houses,  his  breathless  arrival  and  the  warning 
given,  the  name  of  the  place  of  rendezvous. 

“ But  we  can’t  ” — the  protest  might  begin.  But 
the  other  knew  they  must  get  there. 

‘‘  I tell  you  the  slaves  have  risen.  The  overseer  and 
book-keepers  at  Cruikshank’s  have  been  murdered! 
Get  your  horses.  There’s  not  a minute  to  be  lost ! ” 

''But  my  blackguards ” 

"Damnation  1 The  Koromantyns  I tell  you,  man  1 
Hurry  along  that  girl  of  yours  and  her  child  1 I 
saw  the  place  burning  1 I heard  the  poor  beggars’ 
frantic  shrieks  and  I couldn’t  help  them,  Cruikshank 
has  cleared  out.  For  the  love  of  God,  stir  yourself  1 ” 


162 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


“ But  the  girl  is ” 

“ I tell  you  they  killed  Nancy  and  a child  at  her 
breast,  and  she  a mulatto,  and  dark  at  that!  Not 
a drop  of  white  blood  1 Hurry  I Waste  not  a 
second  I Is  that  the  nearest  road  to  Brimmer 
Hall?”  He  stretches  out  his  whip.  “Tell  the 
others  you  saw  me,  and  111  be  back  as  soon  as 
I can.  But — my  God,  man,  if  you  want  to  save 
your  bacon,  hurry  1 ” and  his  horse  turned  with  a 
clatter  and  he  was  away  again,  leaving  dismay  and 
consternation  behind  him. 

And  well  they  might  fear.  From  the  butchery 
at  Ballard’s  Valley,  where  they  had  drunk  rum 
mixed  with  the  blood  of  their  victims  in  true 
barbaric  triumph,  the  revolting  slaves  marched  to 
Port  Maria,  and  thence  along  the  high  road  into 
the  interior,  the  other  slaves  joining  them  as  they 
went,  and  they  spread  death  and  destruction, 
murdering  the  people  and  firing  the  canes.  The 
galloping  horse  on  an  errand  of  mercy  did  not  reach 
Esher  and  other  estates,  they  were  roused  too  late 
by  the  Koromantyn  yell,  and  the  Ashantis  behaved 
like  the  bloodthirsty  savages  they  were.  In  that 
one  morning  they  butchered  between  thirty  and 
forty  whites  and  mulattoes,  sparing  not  even  the 
babies  in  their  mother’s  arms. 

Gladly  would  I know  something  more  about  it, 
but  the  historian  was  not  an  artist,  and  doubtless 
in  those  days  everybody  knew  exactly  what  happened. 
In  the  heat  of  the  day  the  whites  would  be  lolling 
idly  in  the  great  hall,  second  breakfast  just  finished, 
and  there  would  come  the  pad,  pad  of  bare  feet  on 
the  polished  mahogany  floor. 

“ Missus  ! Missus  ! Bun  ! Dem  Koromantyns  I 
Dem  bad  slaves  ! ” 

Some  one  would  look  from  the  window.  The 


FUGITIVES 


163 


noise  that  had  been  as  the  other  noises  of  a morn- 
ing’s work  swelled  in  the  sea  breeze,  and  there  was 
a commotion,  naked  figures  rushing  here  and  there 
and — What  was  that?  That  white  man  running 
with  his  face  all  bloody.  Could  it  be  the  new  book- 
keeper ? 

Even  at  this  day  there  are  people  who  will  tell 
you  what  tradition  has  told  them  that  the  negroes 
would  come  on  in  a body,  fling  themselves  like  an 
avalanche  on  the  Great  House  and  cut  down  ruth- 
lessly all  before  them.  Or  if  they  found  the  white 
people  fled,  they  satisfied  their  desires  by  broaching 
the  rum  casks  and  breaking  open  the  stores.  This 
possibly  saved  many  lives,  for  while  the  enemy  were 
thus  engaged  the  fugitives  made  the  best  of  their 
way  to  some  place  of  safety.  They  did  not  always 
succeed  in  reaching  it,  for  the  slaves  knew  the 
woods  far  better  than  their  masters,  a thousand 
times  better  than  their  mistresses,  and  they  hunted 
them,  beat  the  bush  for  them,  as  beaters  beat  for 
pheasants,  cut  down  the  men  with  the  machetes  they 
themselves  had  supplied  or  beat  them  with  conch 
shells — and  the  women,  nothing  could  be  more 
terrible  than  the  fate  of  the  poor  girl  cowering  on 
the  hillside  among  the  dense  jungle,  its  very  dense- 
ness betraying  her  presence  to  eyes  keen  as  those  of 
these  savages  trained  to  hunt. 

Edwards  gives  no  details  of  what  happened  to 
the  women  slain  in  this  rebellion,  but  a little  later 
on  he  speaks  of  the  rebellion  in  Hayti  and  he  tells 
how  a superintendent  who  had  been  popular  and 
good  to  his  slaves  was  treated  by  them  when  they 
rose,  and  he  adds  the  ghastly  details  of  what 
happened  to  his  wife,  who  was  expecting  almost 
immediately  the  birth  of  her  baby.  They  are  too 
terrible  to  give  here,  though  I do  not  count  myself 


164 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


over- squeamish,  but  it  made  me  understand  why 
Zachary  Bayley  fled  at  full  speed  along  those  rough 
hillside  tracks  to  warn  the  planters. 

There  is  another  horrible  story  told  of  a Jamaican 
planter  whose  slaves  rose  against  him,  slaves  whom 
he  trusted  and  to  whom  he  had  been  kind.  They 
rose  in  the  night  led  by  a runaway  he  had  rescued 
from  starving  in  the  woods.  They  gagged  him  and 
then  proceeded  to  torture  him,  ‘‘by  turns  wounded 
his  most  tender  and  sensitive  parts  till  his  soul  took 
flight.”  They  violated  his  wife  and  killed  her  with 
the  rest  of  the  family  and  every  white  man  on  the 
plantation. 

This  is  what  the  white  people  feared  sub- 
consciously all  the  time.  What  the  girls  feared 
when  they  let  down  their  hair  and  undressed  for 
the  night,  when  they  drew  together  the  shutters  and 
shut  out  the  gorgeous  tropical  moonlight,  what  the 
master  of  the  house  feared  when  he  stirred  in  his 
sleep,  uneasily,  roused  because  the  dogs  were  bark- 
ing, what  the  mother  feared  as  she  hushed  her  baby's 
crying  to  listen,  and  wonder  if  that  were  the  tramp 
of  unshod  feet  over  in  the  direction  of  the  breeze 
mill.  It  is  what  Zachary  Bayley  feared  when  he 
tore  across  the  country  in  the  dawn  of  the  tropical 
morning. 

By  noon  he  had  collected  130  men,  “white  men 
and  trusty  blacks.”  We  do  not  know  the  proportion 
of  white  men  to  “trusty  blacks,”  but  we  do  know 
that  the  white  men  were  all  imbued  with  the  same 
awful  fear,  the  fear  lest  all  the  Koromantyns  in  the 
island,  and  there  were  thousands  of  them,  should 
revolt.  These  men  Bayley  led  in  pursuit  of  the 
rebels. 

The  wasteful  savages  had  dissipated  the 
advantage  they  had  gained.  They  might  have  held 


WASTED  OPPORTUNITIES 


165 


the  whole  colony  up  to  ransom,  but  instead  they 
were  actually  found  at  Haywood  Hall  roasting  an 
ox  by  the  flames  of  the  buildings  they  had  set  on  fire. 

I should  like  to  know  more  precise  details,  but 
Edwards  only  says  the  whites  attacked  them  with 
great  fury,  killed  eight  or  nine  on  the  spot,  took 
several  prisoners  and  drove  the  rest  into  the  woods. 
Here,  of  course,  sustenance  could  not  be  found  for 
so  large  a party  all  at  once,  and  they  were  obliged 
to  act  wholly  on  the  defensive.  The  ruling  class 
when  they  were  thoroughly  aroused  had  this  in  their 
favour,  they  had  some  sort  of  discipline,  the  blacks 
had  none.  Sullenly  enough  they  had  retired  to  the 
woods,  and  there  Tacky  the  chief  who  had  in- 
stituted the  revolt  was  killed  by  one  of  the  parties 
which  constantly  harried  the  wretched  fugitives, 
and  before  long  some  died,  some  made  good  in  the 
recesses  of  the  mountains  and  the  rest  were  taken. 

But  before  they  were  conquered  the  revolt  had 
spread  across  the  island  to  Westmoreland. 

“In  St  Mary,”  writes  Bridges,  “they  were  re- 
pulsed, broken  and  disheartened.  In  Westmoreland 
they  were  flushed  with  early  victory ; murderous 
success  crowned  their  first  efforts ; they  beat  off  the 
militia,  increased  their  ranks  to  a thousand  effective 
men,  and  after  a tedious  struggle  they  could  be 
subdued  only  by  the  exertions  of  a regiment  of 
regulars,  the  militia  of  the  neighbouring  parish  and 
the  Maroons  of  the  interior.  The  most  cruel  ex- 
cesses that  ever  stained  the  pages  of  history,  marked 
the  progress  of  these  rebels ; and  the  details  which 
would  elucidate  barbarity  scarcely  human,  almost 
chills  the  warm  hope  of  civilisation  ever  reaching  the 
bosoms  in  which  ferocity  is  so  innate.” 

Edwards  takes  some  trouble  to  show  us  what 
the  civilisation  of  the  times  meant  and  what  might 

M 


166 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


be  hoped  from  it.  It  was  better  to  die  than  be 
taken,  for  there  was  little  to  choose  between  black 
and  white  in  fiendish  cruelty.  The  white  gentleman 
ran  the  ignorant  savage  close. 

“It  was  thought  necessary,”  says  Edwai'ds,  “to 
make  a few  examples  of  some  of  the  most  guilty. 
Of  three  who  were  clearly  proved  to  have  been 
concerned  in  the  murders  at  Ballard’s  Valiev,  one 
was  condemned  to  be  burnt  and  the  other  two  to 
be  hung  up  alive  in  irons  and  left  to  perish  in  that 
dreadful  situation.” 

There  is  in  the  Jamaican  Institute  a set  of  the 
irons  used  for  such  a sentence.  When  found,  thev 
had  the  bones  of  a skeleton  in  them,  the  skeleton  of 
a woman ! 

They  burnt  the  man  after  the  fashion  that  Hans 
Sloane  described.  He  uttered  not  a groan  when 
they  applied  the  fire  to  his  feet,  and  saw  his  legs 
and  feet  reduced  to  ashes  with  the  “ utmost  firmness 
and  composure.  Then  getting  one  of  his  hands 
loose  he  seized  a burning  brand  and  flung  it  in  the 
face  of  his  executioner.”  Truly  a man  it  seems  to 
me  who  might  have  been  worth  something  better. 

In  the  case  of  the  other  two.  Fortune  and 
Kingston,  the  whole  proceeding  was  gone  through 
with  a ghastly  deliberation  that  makes  us  shiver 
now  although  it  happened  a hundred  and  sixty  years 
ago.  They  were  given  a hearty  meal  and  then  they 
were  hung  up  on  a gibbet  which  was  erected  on  the 
parade  of  the  town  of  Kingston.  Edwards  declares 
that  from  the  time  they  were  hung  up  till  the  moment 
they  died  they  never  uttered  a complaint.  A week 
later  they  were  still  alive  and  as  the  authorities 
thought  that  one  of  them  had  something  to  tell  his 
late  master,  Zachary  Bayley,  who  was  on  his  planta- 
tion, Edwards  was  sent  for,  but  though  he  had  an 


AMIDST  A HOSTILE  PEOPLE 


167 


interpreter  he  could  not  understand  what  the  man 
wanted  and  he  only  remembers  that  one  of  them 
laughed  immoderately  at  something,  he  did  not 
know  what.  They  must  have  had  water,  for  one 
lived  for  eight  days  and  the  other  one  died  on  the 
morning  of  the  ninth  day. 

“Throughout  their  torture,’'  remarks  Bridges, 
“they  evinced  such  hardened  insolence  and  brutal 
insensibility  that  even  pity  was  silenced.”  What 
did  he  expect  them  to  do  ? They  could  not  expect 
any  mercy,  so  why  should  they  express  regret  except 
for  having  failed  ? 

But  did  Bridges  really  believe,  “ that  their 
condition  was  gradually  rising  in  the  scale  of  humanity 
and  the  tide  of  Christianity,  which  in  the  wilds  of 
Africa  never  could  have  reached  them,  was  here 
flowing  with  a gentle  but  accelerated  motion.”  God 
save  us  from  the  Christianity  preached  by  some  of 
its  advocates. 

Here  I may  put  it  on  record  that  the  slaves,  no 
matter  to  what  torture  they  were  subjected,  never 
betrayed  each  other.  In  all  the  tale  of  conspiracies 
and  rebellion  seldom  are  we  told  of  a slave  having 
betrayed  the  secret  of  the  proposed  rising,  and  when 
one  did  there  was  generally  strong  reason  for  it. 
Once  a girl  begged  that  the  life  of  her  nursling  might 
be  saved.  The  man  of  whom  she  begged  the  baby’s 
life  refused — all  the  whites  must  die.  So  she  saved 
the  baby  she  loved  and  its  mother  and  father  by 
betraying  the  rebellion.  Then  again,  sometimes 
I think  a girl  might  tell  to  save  the  life  of  her  white 
lover,  the  book-keeper  or  the  overseer  of  the  estate. 

One  would  think  that  living  amidst  a hostile 
people  every  white  man  would  be  most  careful  in 
his  comings  and  goings,  careful  even  of  what  he 
said,  for  though  at  first  the  negroes  did  not  under- 


168 


SLAVE  REBELLIONS 


stand  English,  the  house  servants  soon  learned  it, 
and  we  may  be  very  sure  that  the  doings  and  sayings 
of  the  people  up  at  the  Great  House  were  reported 
daily  in  the  slave  village  and  listened  to  with  as 
great  avidity  as  to-day  we  read  the  news  of  the 
world  in  the  daily  papers. 

Besides,  all  the  slaves  were  not  hostile.  The 
Creoles,  born  to  the  conditions  in  which  they  found 
themselves,  were  more  contented.  They  regarded 
slavery  as  their  natural  lot,  and  it  was  only  by  slow 
degrees  that  the  talk  of  emancipation  grew.  But  it 
did  grow  and  the  rebellion  of  1832,  a very  devastating 
one,  which  ran  like  wildfire  through  Westmoreland, 
Hanover,  and  St  James’,  was  caused  mainly  because 
at  the  Great  Houses  and  the  ‘‘  Buckras’  ” tables  the 
white  people  talking  carelessly  before  the  black 
servants,  to  whom  they  never  gave  a thought,  declared 
emphatically  that  all  this  talk  of  emancipation  was 
so  much  rubbish. 

And  at  Christmas  time,  the  angry,  disappointed, 
misguided  slaves  rose.  I have  always  taken 
particular  interest  in  this  rebellion,  because  I once 
enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  Montpelier,  one  of  the 
loveliest  pens  in  Jamaica,  where  much  money  has 
been  spent,  and  beneath  the  trees  on  the  green  grass 
rest  white  Indian  cattle  bred  for  draught  purposes. 
Mr  Edwards,  the  owner,  told  me  that  he  used  to 
hear  stories  in  his  youth  of  how  the  slaves  burned 
the  houses,  and  mills,  and  cane  pieces,  and  the 
night  was  alight  with  blazing  fires.  Major  Hall  and 
his  wife,  high  in  the  hills  at  Kempshot,  received 
warning  just  in  time,  and  through  the  darkness  made 
their  way  to  Worcester,  lying  far  below. 

It  must  have  been  terrible,  stumbling  down  tliat 
stony  mountain  path  through  the  darkness,  with  the 
dread  fear  that  the  enemy  might  reach  Worcester 


THE  MANGO  WALK 


169 


before  them.  Neither  husband  nor  wife  returned,  nor 
was  the  house  rebuilt,  and  not  till  nearly  fifty  years 
afterwards  did  Mr  Maxwell  Hall,  seeking  through  the 
country  for  a site  on  which  to  build  an  observatory, 
choose  a hill  on  Kempshot  Pen  just  above  the  place 
where  the  old  house  had  stood.  Where  the  country 
was  not  dense  jungle  it  was  occupied  by  negro 
cultivators,  the  most  destructive  cultivators  perhaps 
in  the  world,  of  the  old  house  there  was  not  one 
stone  left  upon  another,  nothing  remained  but  the 
Mango  Walk.  It  stands  there  still,  the  only 
monument  to  the  white  people  who  once  lived  on 
that  spot.  The  trees  have  long  given  over  bearing, 
but  the  avenue  is  a thing  of  beauty,  and  to  the  very 
tops  has  grown  a lovely  creeper  which  strews  the 
ground  beneath  with  heavily  scented  white  bell- 
shaped flowers. 

It  has  nothing  to  do  with  them,  of  course,  but 
in  my  mind  that  beautiful  Walk  stands  for  the  slave 
rebellions,  the  terrible  times  that  are  past  and  gone 
but  hardly  forgotten.  In  judging  the  relations  of 
the  white  man  and  the  black,  in  weighing  the  causes 
of  discord  between  them,  in  considering  the  short- 
comings of  both,  we  must  always  remember  that  past 
when  they  lived  together  bound  by  a tie  galling  to 
both  which  has  left  behind  it  a legacy  of  bitterness 
that  only  time  and  success  on  the  part  of  the  black 
man  can  sweeten. 


CHAPTER  YIII 


THE  MAROONS 

Considering  the  size  of  Jamaica,  it  seems  stransre 
to  say  that  in  the  fastnesses  of  its  mountains  there 
lived  a body  of  men,  just  a handful  of  them,  who 
actually  defied  the  British  Government  and  all  the 
arms  they  could  bring  against  them,  not  for  a year  or 
twenty  years,  but  for  close  on  one  hundi'ed  and 
forty  years ! 

It  seems  incredible ; but  when  I went  to  live 
at  the  Hyde  I began  to  believe  it,  once  I had  gone 
up  to  Maroon  town  I quite  understood  it,  and  before 
I had  left  Jamaica,  having  spent  three  months  at 
Kempshot,  I saw  what  an  ideal  country  was  this 
for  guerilla  warfare  such  as  the  Maroons  waged. 
The  story  of  these  black  men  is  one  that  deserves 
to  be  remembered  and  set  down  beside  the  tale 
of  the  Doones  in  Devonshire,  or  the  Highland 
Chiefs  who  held  the  glens  of  Scotland  for  the 
Stuart  king. 

The  origin  of  the  term  “Maroon”  is  somewhat 
obscure.  There  are  people  who  say  it  is  derived 
from  a Spanish  word  meaning  wild,  and  there  are 
others  who  declare  that  Maroons  simply  meant  hog- 
hunters,  for  upon  these  animals  the  free-booters  lived. 

Bryan  Edwards  says  the  Spaniards  left  1500 
slaves  behind  them.  Bridges  is  sure  that  every 
Spanish  slave  was  killed  or  taken  within  eight 
years  of  the  conquest  of  the  island.  But  this  parson 

170 


“A  HAPPY  SLAVE— A DEGRADED  MAN'’  171 

of  the  Church  of  England  is  a gentleman  whom 
the  more  we  read  him  the  less  we  like  him.  He 

was  a time-server  and  a sycophant  on  his  own 

showing.  His  evident  intention  was  to  please  the 
planters,  and  though  that  in  itself  is  not  a crime, 
it  is  certainly  a sin,  when  a man  undertakes  to  write 
a history,  to  look  only  for  the  good  on  one  side, 

and  to  be  very  sure  of  the  evil  on  the  other.  In 

the  days  of  Bridges  (he  wrote  in  1828),  the  island 
was  divided  into  planters  and  slaves,  and  the  man 
who  drank  the  planters’  punch,  who  was  entertained 
in  their  houses,  who  laid  himself  out  to  be  so  invited — 
“ sucked  up  ” as  Australian  school-boys  used  to  say — 
was  hardly  likely  to  consider  the  slaves  anything  but 
the  dregs  of  humanity.  It  flattered  the  vanity  of  the 
planters  to  think  that  within  eight  years  of  the 
driving  out  of  the  Spaniards  their  slaves  were 
subdued  as  well.  It  is  hardly  likely  they  were.  It 
seems  to  me  that  that  little  band  of  men,  hidden 
away  among  the  cockpit  country  of  St  James  and 
Trelawny,  and  in  the  mountains  of  Portland  and 
St  Thomas,  probably  began  with  the  slaves  left 
behind  by  the  Spaniards,  and  were  recruited  by 
all  the  more  adventurous  spirits  who  managed  to 
escape  from  their  loathed  bondage.  For  I do  not 
believe  that  the  black  people,  as  some  people  say, 
were  happier  as  slaves.  Bather  do  I agree  with 
Burke  who,  in  the  great  debates  on  the  Abolition 
of  the  Slave  Trade,  said : ‘‘  That  nothing  made  a 
happy  slave  but  a degraded  man.” 

The  cockpit  country  of  Jamaica  is  an  amazing 
country  still.  I paid  it  a visit  by  the  courtesy  of 
Mr  Moralez,  the  father  of  the  lovely  girl  who  owned 
the  little  canoe,  and  she  came  with  me  to  show 
me  points  of  interest,  for  she  had  lived  in  Montego 
Bay  all  her  life. 


172 


THE  MAROONS 


It  was  a glorious  morning  in  December,  and 
December  mornings  in  Jamaica  are  more  likely  to 
be  delicious  than  a May  morning  in  England  or 
Australia.  There  is  something  in  the  soft,  cool  air 
that  no  mere  pen  can  describe.  Everywhere  is 
green,  dark  green  of  pimento,  light  green  of  akee 
or  dogwood,  vivid  green  of  cane.  Crushing  in  the 
sugar  mills  has  begun,  and  all  is  activity  as  you 
pass  the  works  on  the  estates.  On  the  roads, 
marching  along  with  loads  on  their  heads,  mostly 
of  green  banana  for  it  happened  to  be  a Monday, 
were  throngs  of  people,  mostly  women.  They  tramp 
miles — old  women,  young  women,  boys,  and  little 
girls  who  step  out  on  sturdy  little  black  legs  and 
swing  their  short  and  scanty  frocks,  and  are  smiling 
under  a load  that  sm’prises  me,  for  they  are  proud 
that  they,  too,  may  join  the  throng  of  wage-earners, 
small  wage-earners  when  we  compare  results  with 
other  labourers  in  the  outside  world,  but  stiU,  slaves 
no  longer,  and  earning  money  that  is  their  very  own. 

The  road  winds  with  hairpin  curves  up  the  steep 
hills.  Sheer  up  on  one  side,  very  often  built  up 
with  stone  on  the  other — there  is  rock  in  plenty — 
and  sheer  down  into  the  vallev  below.  Soon  we 
were  on  mountain  land,  untouched  by  the  hand  of 
man,  and  crawling  up  one  side  of  a mountain  we 
could  look  over  to  the  breakneck  mountain  side 
across  the  cockpit  that  lay  between,  for  the  cockpits 
mentioned  so  often  in  the  history  of  Jamaica  are 
what  we  should  call  gullies  in  AustraUa,  and  glens 
in  Scotland.  Precipitous  holes  are  they,  and  far 
below  us  and  far  above  us  we  could  see  tree-ferns 
such  as  I have  not  seen  since  I left  Australia,  and 
all  the  steep  mountain  sides  are  bound  together 
with  undergrowth  and  creeper,  growing  so  densely 
that  I can  quite  well  believe  a man  who  said  you 


A SPLENDID  LAND 


173 


could  progress  only  at  the  rate  of  a quarter  of 
a mile  a day  when  you  had  to  cut  your  way  through. 
There  are  trees,  of  course,  wonderful  trees,  festooned 
with  vines,  but  we  could  only  see  them  from  a 
distance,  the  trees  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain ; 
close  at  hand  we  saw  only  the  tangle  of  greenery 
growing  round  the  trunks.  And  the  trees  grow 
tall  and  straight  in  their  struggle  towards  the  light 
and  sunshine.  There  is  mahogany,  the  lovely  wood 
we  all  know — I pride  myself  on  my  mahogany 
wardrobes ; there  is  mahoe,  nearly  as  fine ; there 
is  bullet  wood,  hard  as  its  name  implies  and  too 
good  for  the  sleepers  into  which  it  is  made,  and 
wherever  there  is  space  enough  for  it,  it  looks  splendid 
standing  out  against  the  blue  on  some  mountain 
spur,  there  is  the  symmetrical  broad  leaf  which  is 
akin  to  what  they  call  the  almond,  though  it  is 
certainly  not  the  almond  of  Italy.  And  again,  close 
at  hand,  there  is  maiden-hair  and  coral,  and  other 
ferns  like  a conservatory  grown  wild,  growing  beside 
little  springs  of  crystal  clear  water  that  spurt  out 
among  the  rocks ; and  there  are  creamy  ginger  lilies 
turning  their  delicate  faces  to  the  light,  and  other 
lilies,  gorgeous  as  a tulip,  red  splashed  with  orange, 
true  daughters  of  the  sun.  And  always  is  the 
feathery  bamboo  wildly  luxuriant,  growing  as  if 
this  were  its  original  habitat,  which  it  is  not,  and 
the  innumerable  creepers  which  bind  all  these  things 
growing  riotously  with  the  richness  of  life  that 
prevails  in  the  tropics.  Oh,  a splendid  land ! But 
I do  not  wonder  that  here  for  over  a hundred  years 
the  Maroons  were  masters,  and  raided  down  into 
the  pens  and  estates  that  encroached  on  their 
grounds  with  impunity.  They  say  that  the  Maroons 
were  not  friendly  with  the  slaves.  But  that  was 
not  always  true.  Maroons  and  slaves  were  the 


174 


THE  MAROONS 


same  colour,  and  that  is  a great  bond — how  great 
a bond  we  only  realise  when  we  have  left  a land 
where  everyone  is  white,  and  at  dength  see  in  any 
one  of  our  own  colour  at  least  a potential  friend. 
So  I think  it  must  have  been  with  the  Maroons 
till  the  white  men  made  of  them  slave-catchers,  and 
even  then  the  unalterable  tie  must  have  sometimes 
held  good. 

I have  lived  in  Trelawny  and  in  Montego  Bay, 
places  close  to  the  Maroon  Country,  though  twenty 
miles  in  Jamaica  up  steep  acclivities,  down  abrupt 
slopes,  across  mountain  passes,  is  twenty  times  as 
far  as  it  would  be  in  another  land.  But  the  Hyde 
was  close  to  the  cockpit  country.  We  went  just 
a little  way  behind  into  the  hills  and  we  soon  came 
to  a place  where  no  wheeled  vehicle  could  pass, 
where  we  must  of  necessity  walk  along  the  bridle 
track  cut  in  the  side  of  the  steep  mountains  that 
rose  up  on  either  hand,  though  perhaps  a very  sure- 
footed horse  or  mule  might  have  carried  us  in  safety. 
And  all  the  houses  round  about  those  hills  had  loop- 
holes in  their  walls. 

'‘For  the  Maroons.” 

The  people  have  forgotten  long  ago  the  old-time 
fear;  only  when  you  see  a curious  loophole  in  the 
lower  masonry  of  a house,  a house  on  the  hillside 
to  which  you  mount  by  many  winding  stone  steps — 
a fine  staircase  in  any  land — and  you  ask  what  is 
that  for,  the  dwellers  say,  "The  Maroons.”  But 
sometimes  it  was  for  general  defence,  defence  against 
the  picaroons  that  infested  the  seas,  against  the 
slaves  who  might  rise  at  any  time.  But  round  about 
Montego  Bay  and  in  the  hills  in  Trelawny  close 
against  the  cockpit  country  those  slots  in  the 
masonry  were  certainly  against  the  Maroons. 

Dallas  says  that  many  of  the  slaves  who  rose 


FEAR 


175 

at  Buttons  in  Clarendon  made  their  way  to  the 
Maroons  in  the  heart  of  the  island,  and  after  that 
their  numbers  were  occasionally  recruited  from 
among  the  plantation  negroes.  They  got  provisions 
from  the  provision  grounds,  and  the  settlers  who 
lived  a little  back  from  the  towns  in  places  like 
Balaclava  (which  was  not  Balaclava  then),  Ulster 
Springs,  on  the  mountain  sides  as  at  the  Hyde, 
Catadupa,  and  quaintly  named  Lapland,  were  kept 
in  a perpetual  state  of  alarm. 

There  was  a time  when  I thought  to  be  kept 
in  a perpetual  state  of  alarm  would  make  life 
impossible,  and  I wondered  at  pioneers  who  first 
crossed  Kentucky — ‘‘that  dark  and  bloody  ground,” 
— at  the  estate  owners  and  pen-keepers  who  dwelt 
among  their  discontented  slaves  in  places  where  the 
Maroons  might  easily  raid ; indeed  I wonder  still. 
But  now,  in  a measure  I understand.  During  the 
war  I lived  not  far  from  Woolwich  arsenal,  that 
magnet  for  German  airships.  Were  people  there 
afraid  ? 

Some  of  us  were,  I suppose,  but  the  vast  majority 
grew  accustomed  to  the  alarms.  So  few  people 
were  killed  even  if  they  came  every  night,  so  few 
houses  were  wrecked  though  the  night  sky  was 
illuminated  with  search-lights  that  we  became  inured  to 
them.  And  so  I suppose  it  was  with  these  people  who 
lived  on  the  borders  of  the  Maroon  Country.  The 
pens  and  estates  close  to  the  mountains  were  their 
homes.  Here  they  must  live,  and  they  hoped  that 
the  raiding  Maroons  would  not  come  their  way, 
that  their  slaves  would  stand  by  them,  and  that 
they  would  be  able  to  beat  them  off  if  they  did ; 
that  anyhow,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  help 
would  come  to  extricate  them  before  the  savages 
were  able  to  work  their  wicked  will  upon  them. 


176 


THE  MAROONS 


Still,  of  course,  the  Maroons  must  have  retarded 
the  settlement  of  the  country  as  Dallas  says  they 
undoubtedly  did. 

'‘By  degrees  they  became  very  formidable,  and 
in  their  predatory  excursions  greatly  distressed  the 
back  settlers  by  plundering  their  houses,  destroying 
their  cattle,  and  carrying  off  their  slaves  by  force.” 

"At  first,”  says  Dallas,  "they  contented  them- 
selves with  isolated  cases  of  depredation,  but  growing 
bolder,  became  such  a danger  that  the  colonists 
resolved  to  reduce  them.” 

"Isolated  cases  of  depredation”  are  very  hard 
on  those  isolated  cases.  But  when  raids  like  this 
have  been  repeated  twice  or  thrice,  then  even  the 
colonist  who  did  not  come  into  contact  with  the 
Maroons  realised  that  something  must  be  done. 
The  Maroons  concentrated  themselves  under  Cudjoe, 
whom  we  read  was  " a bold,  skilful,  and  enterprising 
man,  who,  on  assuming  the  command,  appointed  his 
brothers  Accompong  and  Johnny  leaders  under  him, 
and  Cufiee  and  Quao  subordinate  captains.  Many  of 
these  negroes  seem  to  have  been  Koromantyns, 
runaway  slaves,  whom  Dallas  describes  as  "a  people 
inured  to  war  on  the  coast  of  Africa.”  Ashantis 
all  I doubt  not. 

Cudjoe  had  a great  reputation.  From  the 
Maroons  in  the  Eastern  Mountains  a body  calling 
themselves  Cottawoods  broke  away,  and  wdth  their 
women  and  children  joined  Cudjoe  by  the  rugged, 
inaccessible  mountain  paths  and  valleys,  and  Dallas 
tells  of  another  body  of  black  men  who  also  cast 
in  their  lot  with  him. 

" These,”  says  he,  " were  distinct  in  every  respect, 
their  figure,  character,  language,  and  country  being 
different  from  those  of  the  other  blacks.  Their 
skin  is  of  a deeper  jet  than  that  of  any  other  negro, 


CUDJOE— A LEADER 


177 


their  features  resemble  those  of  Europeans,  their 
hair  is  of  a long  and  soft  texture  like  a Mulatto’s 
or  Quadroon’s ; their  form  is  more  delicate,  and 
their  stature  rather  lower  than  those  of  the  people 
they  joined ; they  were  much  handsomer  to  a 
European  eye,  but  seemed  not  to  have  originally 
possessed  such  hardiness  and  strength  of  nerve  as 
the  other  people  under  Cudjoe;  and  although  it  is 
probable  that  the  intercourse  with  the  latter  had 
existed  between  seventy  and  eighty  years,  and  an 
intermixture  of  families  had  taken  place,  their  original 
character  was  easily  traced  in  their  descendants. 
They  were  called  Madagascars,  but  why  I do  not 
know,  never  having  heard  that  any  slaves  were 
brought  from  the  island  of  Madagascar.  They 
said  that  they  ran  away  from  the  settlements  about 
Lacovia  in  the  parish  of  St  Elizabeth  soon  after 
the  planters  had  bought  them.  It  does  not  appear 
that  their  numbers  were  great,  but  they  were 
remarkably  prolific.” 

Bridges  says  in  much  more  grandiloquent 
language  that  a slave  ship  from  Madagascar  with 
slaves  that  had  Malay  blood  in  their  veins  was 
wrecked  on  the  coast,  and  the  slaves  escaping  joined 
the  Maroons.  But  one  thing  is  clear,  that  the  blood 
of  a good  many  races  ran  in  the  veins  of  these  free- 
booters who  held  the  heights  for  so  long.  It  is 
quite  possible  there  was  even  a little  admixture  of 
white  blood,  but  not  very  much,  for  one  thing  was 
certain,  they  hated  the  whites — naturally. 

At  first  it  seems  Cudjoe  was  only  regarded  as 
a leader  of  runaway  slaves ; later,  as  his  successes 
grew  and  settlement  among  the  mountains  became 
more  and  more  difficult  on  account  of  his  depreda- 
tions, they  decided  he  was  a Maroon.  Hidden  in 
the  inaccessible  fastnesses  of  the  interior,  the  troops 


178 


THE  MAROONS 


sent  against  him  were  foiled  again  and  again.  It 
was  rough  on  those  soldiers  dressed  in  the  absurd 
fashions  of  the  time  so  unsuitable  for  the  tropics, 
but  once  they  got  beyond  the  parade  ground,  I 
doubt  not  they  accommodated  themselves  to  circum- 
stances lightly  clad  in  shirt  and  breeches.  There  is 
in  the  Jamaican  Institute  a fearsome  erection  of 
black  felt  and  brass  which  says  it  is  the  headgear 
of  a militia  regiment  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
is  kept  there  as  a monument  to  the  unutterable  folly 
of  those  who  arranged  for  their  fighting  forces  in 
the  tropics.  If  everything  else  was  ordered  on  like 
lines,  it  is  not  surprising  that  a foe  who  could  take 
advantage  of  every  stick  and  stone  and  tree,  could 
and  did  easily  make  all  the  discipline  a thing  of 
naught. 

At  first  the  Maroons  had  only  desired  to  plunder, 
but  since  indiscriminate  plunder  could  not  be  allowed 
in  a community  that  was  striving  to  be  civilised, 
and  they  found  themselves  driven  farther  and  farther 
into  the  woods  and  mountains  by  assailants  who 
were  probably  not  very  tender  towards  those  who  fell 
into  their  hands,  they  began  reprisals. 

“Murder,”  says  Dallas,  “attended  all  their  suc- 
cesses ; not  only  men  but  women  and  children  were 
sacrificed  to  their  fury,  and  even  people  of  their 
own  colour  if  unconnected  with  them.  Over  such 
as  secretly  favoured  them,  while  they  apparently 
remained  at  peace  on  the  plantations  they  exercised 
a dominion  . . . and  made  them  subservient  to 
their  designs.  By  these  Cudjoe  was  always  apprised 
in  time  of  the  parties  that  were  fitted  out.” 

I can  imagine  the  planters  talking  at  their  tables, 
the  house  servants  waiting  with  unmoved  or  even 
sympathetic  faces,  and  yet  carrying  the  news  to  the 
field  labourers.  That  would  be  enough.  At  night 


MAROON  MARKSMANSHIP 


179 


one  of  them  would  steal  off  to  the  mountains  that 
are  so  near  to  every  estate  in  Jamaica.  They  might 
not  even  wait  for  the  night.  A strange  black 
man  would  not  be  noticeable  and  he  might  lie 
hidden  in  any  hut.  Knowing  the  numbers  that  were 
coming  against  them,  something  of  their  plans,  and 
best  of  all  knowing  the  country  so  thoroughly,  it 
was  an  easy  matter  for  Cudjoe  and  his  lieutenants, 
escaped  slaves,  or  descendants  of  slaves  as  they 
were,  to  circumvent  the  plans  laid  against  them. 
Again  and  again  the  white  assailants  were  caught 
in  ambush,  were  slain,  and — worse  still  for  those 
who  came  after  them — Cudjoe  supplied  his  men 
with  arms  and  ammunition  from  what  they  left 
behind  them.  It  was,  as  a matter  of  fact,  fairly 
easy  for  the  Maroons  to  get  arms  and  ammunition. 
The  times  were  such  that  of  necessity  every  man 
went  armed  and  must  be  able  to  get  ammunition 
easily. 

‘'There  was  no  restriction,”  says  Dallas,  “in  the 
sale  of  powder  and  firearms,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  Cudjoe  had  friends  who  made  a regular 
purchase  of  them  under  pretence  of  being  hunters 
and  fowlers  for  their  masters.  . . . Kay,  a Maroon 
himself  might,  carrying  a few  fowls  and  a basket  of 
provisions  on  his  head,  pass  unnoticed  and  unknown 
through  the  immense  crowd  of  negroes  frequenting 
the  markets  in  the  large  towns.” 

And  these  wild  men,  too,  had  learned,  taught  in 
a hard  school,  to  be  careful.  They  never  threw  a 
shot  away  as  the  white  men  did.  Every  bullet  with 
them  was  bound  to  find  its  billet.  The  marksman- 
ship of  the  Maroons  became  proverbial.  Oh,  we  can 
see  easily  enough  how  it  was  that  Cudjoe  managed 
to  protract  the  war  for  years. 

Things  were  getting  desperate,  something  must 


180 


THE  MAROONS 


be  done.  They  had  not  nearly  enough  soldiers.  . . . 
But  in  a country  like  Jamaica,  where  slave  risings 
were  to  be  feared,  whose  coasts  were  harried  by 
picaroons  and  corsairs,  which  might  even  expect 
descents  by  the  French  and  Spaniards,  there  were 
the  militia,  and  they  raised  easily  enough  independent 
companies  and  rangers  to  cope  with  the  difficulties 
that  faced  the  country.  They  even  raised  a body  of 
negroes  called  Blackshot,  favoured,  of  course,  above 
the  rest  of  their  race,  a body  of  Mulattoes  who  might 
perhaps  reasonably  be  supposed  to  side  ^dth  the 
whites,  and  also  they  brought  over  from  Central 
America  a body  of  Mosquito  Indians.  Both  the 
Blackshot  and  the  Mosquito  Indians,  wild  or  half 
wild  men  themselves,  proved  of  great  assistance. 
They  found  out  the  provisions  grounds  of  Cudjoe 
and  the  Maroons,  and  many  were  the  skirmishes 
as  they  drove  the  freebooters  back,  back  into  the 
recesses  of  the  mountains  I went  up  that  sunny 
December  morning;  but  it  is  on  record  that  even 
when  the  Maroons  were  defeated  it  was  always  the 
assailants  who  lost  the  more  heavily.  But  indeed, 
seeing  the  country  now  that  is  partly  opened  up, 
so  that  you  may  stand  on  a well-made  road  and 
look  down  into  the  most  desperate  cockpit,  I know 
that  it  must  have  taken  an  amazing  valour  to  have 
penetrated  at  all  in  the  old  days. 

“There  are,”  says  Dallas,  “parallel  lines  of  cock- 
pits, but  as  their  sides  are  often  perpendicular  from 
fifty  to  eighty  feet”  (looking  down  with  the  jungle 
clear  from  the  top  I should  have  said  they  were 
deeper),  “a  passage  from  one  line  to  the  other  is 
scarcely  found  practicable  to  any  but  a Maroon.  . . . 
There  are  trees  in  the  glens  and  the  entrance  of  the 
defiles  is  woody.  In  some  water  is  found.”  They 
were  almost  impregnable  those  fastnesses.  But  out 


HARRYING  THE  MAROONS 


181 


of  these  defiles  the  Maroons  had  to  come  in  search 
of  provisions  and  the  sharp-sighted  guides,  Mosquito 
Indians  and  other  black  men  on  the  white  men’s 
side,  easily  detected  the  paths  all  converging  on  the 
same  place.  It  might  be  a defile  so  narrow  that  for 
half  a mile  men  could  only  pass  through  in  single 
file.  The  Maroons  knew  as  well  as  their  assailants 
that  these  paths  that  led  into  their  impregnable 
defiles  were  tell-tale,  and  they  made  use  of  them. 
Always  they  were  informed  of  the  approach  of  a 
body  of  militia  and  soldiers.  It  was  a fact  hardly 
to  be  concealed,  and  in  the  dense  vegetation  sur- 
rounding the  entrance  to  the  particular  cockpit  to 
be  attacked  they  established  a line  of  marksmen, 
two  sometimes  if  the  width  of  the  ground  admitted 
of  it.  They  were  well  hidden  by  the  roots  of  trees, 
by  the  thick  screen  of  greenery,  by  the  rocks  and 
stones.  As  soon  as  the  assailants,  panting,  breath- 
less, fatigued  from  the  terrible  climb  that  lay  behind 
them,  approached  from  their  concealment  they  let 
fly  a volley,  and  if  the  forces,  who  did  not  lack 
courage,  turned  to  fire  at  the  spot  where  they  saw 
the  smoke  they  received  a volley  in  another  direction  ; 
prepared  to  charge  that,  they  received  a volley  from 
the  mouth  of  the  glen,  and  then  the  enemy  having 
done  all  the  damage  they  could  retired  unhurt  and 
triumphant  in  proportion  as  their  assailants  were 
bitter  and  downhearted,  for  always  they  left  some 
of  their  number  dead  on  the  field  and  carried  away 
wounded. 

But  the  harrying  nevertheless  worried  the 
Maroons.  They  had  to  find  some  place  where  they 
could  grow  their  provisions  and  keep  their  women 
and  children  in  safety,  for  it  was  not  always  possible 
to  raid  the  plantations  exactly  when  they  wanted 
once  the  white  men  were  on  guard.  Deeper  and 


182 


THE  MAROONS 


deeper  into  the  mountains  they  retreated,  but  Cudjoe 
was  a man  of  judgment.  Taking  up  his  position 
in  the  cockpits  on  the  borders  of  St  James  and 
Trelawny,  among  some  of  the  steepest,  mountainous 
country  in  Jamaica,  he  commanded  the  parishes  of 
St  James,  Hanover,  Westmoreland,  and  St  Elizabeth. 
He  could  thus  obtain  abundant  supplies,  and  with 
his  brother  Accompong  in  the  mountains  overlook- 
ing the  Black  River,  where  even  though  there  were 
more  defenders  for  the  plantations  there  were  still 
more  abundant  supplies  to  be  had,  he  made  his 
people  very  excellent  headquarters.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  Petty  River  cockpit  they  had  a supply  of 
water  and  ground  whereon  they  could  grow  yams 
and  cassava  and  corn,  so  that  they  always  had  some- 
thing to  fall  back  upon  and  they  therefore  could 
choose  their  own  time  for  coming  out.  So  great  a 
general  was  this  poor  runaway  negro  that  in  eight 
or  ten  years  he  had  united  all  the  stray  bands  of 
wandering  slaves  and  terrorised  the  country-side. 

‘‘In  their  inroads,”  says  Dallas,  “they  exercised 
the  most  horrid  barbarities.  The  weak  and  defence- 
less whenever  surprised  by  them  fell  victims  to  their 
thirst  for  blood  ; and  though  some  were  more  humane 
than  others,  all  paid  implicit  obedience  to  the  com- 
mand of  a leader  when  that  was  given  to  imbrue 
their  hands  in  blood ; murder  once  commenced  no 
chief  ever  had  power  to  stay  the  hand  of  his  meanest 
follower,  and  there  is  hardly  an  instance  of  a prisoner 
being  saved  by  them.”  The  Maroons  have  been 
accused  of  torturing  their  prisoners,  but  Dallas  is 
sure  they  were  so  keen  on  killing  that  when  they 
did  take  an  unfortunate  they  were  only  too  eager 
to  cut  off  his  head  with  their  cutlasses  or  machetes, 
and  doubtless  many  a wounded  man  was  so 
despatched.  We  can  hardly  blame  them  for  show- 


DIFFICULTY  OF  GETTING  IN  TOUCH  183 


ing  no  mercy.  They  were  only  untaught  savages 
and  assuredly  no  mercy  was  ever  shown  them. 

By  1739  the  position  of  affairs  was  intolerable, 
and  Governor  Trelawny  was  determined  to  rid  the 
colony  of  the  ever-present  menace.  A considerable 
number  of  the  soldiers  and  militia  were  collected 
and  sent  up  these  heights  to  surround  all  the  paths 
to  the  Maroon  settlements.  And  then,  seeing  there 
was  little  prospect  of  frightening  the  Maroons  into 
submission,  it  was  decided  to  make  peace  and  to 
range  the  enemy  on  the  side  of  the  whites.  For 
it  must  be  remembered  there  were  three  parties 
in  Jamaica,  all  antagonistic,  whites,  slaves,  and 
Maroons.  This  idea  was  hailed  with  enthusiasm, 
as  it  seemed  that  the  holding  of  the  Maroons  within 
bounds  was  likely  to  be  no  easier  as  the  years 
went  on,  and  their  conquest  was  wellnigh  impossible. 
In  fact,  they  were  better  as  friends  than  as  enemies. 
Whatever  they  had  done  was  best  forgotten,  and 
the  Government  declared  themselves  ready  to  cry 
quits. 

The  difficulty  was  to  get  within  touch,  and  to 
make  these  people  who  had  been  hunted  and  harried 
all  their  lives  believe  this  extraordinary  thing.  They 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  realise  the  position, 
and  it  was  just  as  well  they  should  not.  For  in 
the  face  of  a slave  population  that  were  as  tinder 
beside  the  flame,  failure  would  be  fatal.  The  prestige 
of  the  white  man  would  be  gone. 

And  for  this  same  reason,  whatever  was  done 
must  be  done  quickly.  Colonels  Guthrie  and  Sadler 
in  command  were  instructed  to  move  with  what 
despatch  they  might.  But,  though  the  Maroons 
were  as  weary  of  the  war  as  their  opponents,  it 
was  difficult  to  get  speech  with  Cudjoe  and  to  make 
him  believe  that  peace  was  in  the  air  when  they 


184 


THE  MAROONS 


did  get  speech  with  him.  For  he  was  a cautious 
man,  this  negro  leader. 

When  he  saw  the  force  brought  against  him 
he  collected  his  men  in  a spot  most  suitable  for  his 
mode  of  warfare,  placing  them  upon  ledges  of  rock 
that  rose  almost  perpendicularly  to  a great  height 
surrounding  a plain  which  narrowed  into  a passage 
upon  which  the  whole  force  could  bring  their  arms 
to  bear.  This  passage  contracted  into  a defile  half 
a mile  long,  and  it  would  have  been  the  simplest 
thing  for  the  Maroons  to  cut  off  a party  entering 
it,  for  it  was  so  narrow  that  party  must  march  in 
single  file.  For  long  afterwards  it  was  known  as 
Guthrie’s  defile.  In  the  dell  behind,  secured  by 
other  cockpits  behind  it  again,  were  collected  the 
Maroon  women  and  children,  and  on  the  open  ground 
before  the  defile  the  men  had  erected  their  huts, 
which  were  called  Maroon  Town,  or  Cudjoe’s  Town, 
and  in  a moment  they  could  have  flown  to  the  rock 
ledges.  And  even  if  the  town  had  been  burnt  it 
would  not  have  been  a very  grave  loss,  just  a town 
of  wattle  and  posts,  such  as  they  build  even  now 
on  the  Gambia,  with  a grass  or  palm  leaf  thatch. 
And  all  around  were  stationed  men  in  the  hills  with 
horns  made  generally  of  conch  shells,  and  in  those 
days  a negro  could  say  a good  deal  with  a horn, 
even  as  in  Africa  now  he  can  send  a message 
hundreds  of  miles  by  tapping  a tom-tom. 

So  Colonel  Guthrie  advanced  towards  this 
redoubtable  hill  stronghold,  seeing  nothing  but  dense 
greenery  and  outcrops  of  rock,  and  hearing  all  round 
him  the  sound  of  negro  horns,  now  soft  and  low, 
welcoming,  beseeching,  now  loud  and  threatening, 
daring  him  to  come  farther,  now  with  a shrill  wild 
clangour,  warning  those  behind  that  the  white  man 
was  come  in  force.  But  he  advanced  very  slowly, 


A BRAVE  MAN 


185 


making  all  the  signs  he  could  that  he  came  in  peace. 
On  he  came,  on  and  on,  and  there  must  have  been 
some  amongst  his  followers  who  feared  lest  he  risked 
too  much,  and  some  who,  seeing  he  had  got  so  far 
unmolested,  would  gladly  have  risked  all  and  made 
a dash  for  the  huts,  whose  grey  smoke  they  could 
see  streaming  up  in  the  clear  morning  air  above  the 
dense  greenery. 

But  Colonel  Guthrie  held  them  all,  and,  stretching 
out  his  hand,  he  called  out  that  he  came  in  peace, 
that  he  had  come  by  the  Governor’s  orders  to  make 
them  an  offer  of  peace,  and  that  the  white  people 
eagerly  desired  it.  If  the  Maroons  had  only  known 
it,  it  was  a great  confession  of  failure  on  the  part 
of  the  arrogant  whites.  Back  came  the  answer  in 
negro  jargon  that  the  Maroons  too  desired  peace,  and 
they  begged  that  the  troops  might  be  kept  back.  They 
had  reverted  to  savagedom,  these  people;  the  men  were 
warriors  and  hunters,  having  from  two  to  six  wives, 
who  tilled  the  ground  as  well  as  bore  the  children. 
I can  imagine  what  a danger  they  must  have  been, 
set  in  the  midst  of  a slave  population  ; for  one  thing, 
they  were  always  ready  to  carry  off  the  black  women. 
And  now  Colonel  Guthrie  had  come  to  put  an  end 
to  it  all. 

He  shouted  that  he  would  send  someone  to  them 
to  show  the  confidence  he  had  in  their  sincerity,  and 
to  explain  the  terms  of  peace. 

To  this  they  agreed,  and  Dr  Russell  was  elected 
for  the  purpose,  and  a brave  man  he  must  have  been. 

He  advanced  very  confidently  towards  their 
huts,”  says  the  historian,  ‘‘near  which  he  was  met 
by  two  Maroons,  whom  he  informed  of  the  purport 
of  his  message  and  asked  if  either  of  them  were 
Cudjoe.”  They  were  not  Cudjoe,  but  they  promised 
him  if  no  one  followed  him  he  should  see  the  negro 


186 


THE  MAROONS 


leader.  The  horns  had  ceased.  All  on  that  mountain- 
side were  awaiting  the  great  event.  The  two  men 
called  out  in  the  Koromantyn  language,  and  upon 
all  the  surrounding  rocks  and  ledges  and  fallen  trees 
appeared  the  warriors.  Very  like  the  Ashanti  of 
to-day  they  probably  were  with  fierce  dark  faces, 
their  wool  brushed  back  above  the  sloping  forehead 
and  gleaming  white  teeth,  with  necklaces  of  seeds 
or  bones  or  beads  about  theu  necks  and  machetes, 
and  sometimes  long  muskets  in  their  hands.  And 
the  white  messenger  stood  there  and  addressed 
them,  they  were  supposed  to  understand  English 
and  probably  did  understand  the  gist  of  his  speech. 
He  said  that  Cudjoe  was  a brave  and  a good  man, 
and  he  was  sure  he  would  come  down  and  show 
a disposition  to  live  in  peace  and  fidendliness  with 
the  white  people. 

The  negro  chief  had  driven  them  to  woo  him  with 
soft  words,  and  he  did  not  understand  the  greatness 
of  his  victory,  or  perhaps  he  would  have  driven  a 
harder  bargain. 

Several  Maroons  came  forward,  amongst  them 
one  whom  it  was  easy  to  see  was  their  leader. 
And  behold  the  great  negro  chief  who  had  kept 
the  country  at  bay,  for  whose  reduction  regiments 
had  been  sent  from  England,  was  a monstrous 
misshaped  dwarf,  humpbacked,  with  strongly  marked 
African  features,  “and  a peculiar  wildness  in  his 
manner.”  He  was  clad  in  rags.  He  had  on  the 
tattered  remains  of  an  old  blue  coat,  of  which  the 
skills  and  the  sleeves  below  the  elbows  were  missing, 
round  his  head  was  a dirty  white  cloth,  so  dirty 
it  was  difficult  to  realise  its  original  colom\  a pair 
of  loose  drawers  that  did  not  reach  the  knees 
covered  his  substantial  short  legs,  and  he  wore  a 
hat  that  was  only  a crown,  for  the  rim  had  long 


A NEGRO  CHIEFTAIN  187 

since  gone.  A bag  of  large  slugs  and  a cow’s  horn 
full  of  powder  was  slung  on  his  right  side,  and 
on  his  left,  hung  by  a narrow  leather  strap  under 
his  arm,  a sharp  knife,  or  as  they  called  it  then,  a 
“mushet”  or  “couteau.”  A miserable  savage  after 
all  was  the  great  negro  chief,  and  all  his  person 
was  smeared  with  the  red  earth  of  the  cockpits. 
Neither  he  nor  his  followers  had  a shirt  to  their 
names,  though  all  had  guns  and  cutlasses. 

And  the  squat,  dwarf-like  chieftain  who  had  held 
up  the  island  was  nervous.  Facing  the  white  man, 
who  looked  down  upon  him,  he  shifted  uneasily  as  a 
negro  would,  and  at  last  Russell  offered  to  change 
hats  with  him — a brave  man  indeed,  but  the  island 
was  in  straits ! Upon  this  the  Maroons  came  down 
armed,  and  Colonel  Guthrie  and  the  other  white 
men  came  forward  unarmed,  and  Colonel  Guthrie 
held  out  his  hand.  The  emotional  African  seized 
it  and  kissed  it — he  must  have  been  a slave  once, 
he  knew  so  well  what  the  white  men  expected — and 
threw  himself  on  the  ground,  embracing  Colonel 
Guthrie’s  knees,  kissing  his  feet,  and  asking  his 
pardon.  He  was  humble,  penitent,  abject,  clearly 
he  did  not  understand  the  situation.  And  the  rest 
of  the  Maroons,  following  the  example  of  their 
chieftain,  prostrated  themselves,  and  the  long  dreaded 
black  freebooters  were  won  over  to  the  side  of  the 
white  people. 

Then  and  there  upon  that  mountain-side  it  was 
decreed  that  henceforward  all  hostilities  between 
the  Maroons  and  the  whites  should  cease  ‘‘for  ever,” 
they  said  grandiloquently,  that  all  the  Maroons 
except  those  who  had  joined  during  the  past 
two  years  should  live  in  a state  of  freedom  and 
liberty,  that  even  the  exceptions  should  have  full 
pardon  if  they  were  willing  to  return  to  their  former 


188 


THE  MAROONS 


masters,  and  even  if  they  did  not  wish  to  return, 
‘‘they  shall  remain  in  subjection  to  Captain  Cudjoe, 
and  in  friendship  with  us/' 

Oh,  it  was  a glorious  victory — for  the  Maroons  ! 

They  were  to  have  all  the  lands  round  Trelawny 
Town  and  the  cockpits,  with  liberty  to  plant  and 
dispose  of  their  increase,  and  they  might  hunt 
wherever  they  thought  fit,  pro\dded  they  did  not 
come  within  three  miles  of  “any  penn,  settlement, 
or  crawle,"  which  seems  to  have  been  a privilege 
they  could  easily  take,  whether  the  white  people 
liked  it  or  not. 

In  their  turn,  they  bound  themselves  to  help  put 
down  any  rebellion,  or  to  help  against  any  foreign 
invasion,  a white  man  was  to  live  amongst  them, 
and  they  were  to  bring  back  runaway  negroes.  And 
finally,  it  was  required  of  them  that  Captain  Cudjoe 
and  his  successors  were  to  wait  on  the  Governor  or 
Commander-in-Chief  at  least  once  a year. 

And  there  was  another  Maroon  victor}^  this  time 
scored  by  the  Windward  Maroons  in  the  east  of  the 
colony.  These  were  under  Quao,  and  as  communica- 
tion with  Cudjoe’s  party  was  difficult,  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  peace  that  had  been  made.  A party 
of  soldiers  was  sent  out  against  them ; these  soldiers 
were  new  to  the  hills.  For  three  days  they  wandered 
through  the  densely  wooded  mountain-land,  and  then 
they  came  upon  the  footsteps  of  men  and  dogs,  saw 
the  smoke  of  fires,  and  arrived  at  seventy  houses 
with  a fire  burning  in  each,  and  jerked  hog  still 
broiling  upon  the  coals. 

It  never  occurred  to  them  that  such  houses  were 
of  little  value,  easily  made,  for  the  material  lay  all 
around,  and  that  the  woods  abounded  in  pigs.  They 
were  better  used  to  the  parade  ground  than  to 
the  woodland,  and  they  saw  nothing  strange  or 


FIGHT  WITH  THE  WINDWARD  MAROONS  189 

sinister  in  the  fact  that  those  in  flight  had  left  a 
trail  that  even  they  could  follow,  and  so  they  went 
on  blindly,  till  suddenly,  as  they  were  laboriously 
making  their  way  down  to  the  sea,  the  Maroons 
fell  upon  their  rear. 

“The  militia  fled,”  says  Dallas,  “and  the  baggage 
negroes  to  the  number  of  seventy  threw  down  their 
loads  and  followed.  The  regulars  took  shelter 
under  the  perpendicular  projection  of  a mountain 
that  overhung  the  stream,  whence  they  could  hear 
the  Maroons  talking,  though  they  could  see  nothing 
of  them.  In  this  situation,  almost  hid  from  the 
enemy,  they  remained  four  hours  up  to  their  waists 
in  water,  exposed  to  the  heat  of  a vertical  sun  and 
apprehensive  of  being  taken  alive  and  tortured.” 

They  had  fired  at  the  smoke  of  the  Maroon  guns, 
and  by  this  means  got  rid  of  all  their  ammunition, 
but  they  were  safe  enough  where  they  were  so  long 
as  the  enemy  did  not  come  directly  in  front.  At 
last,  when  a shot  was  fired  from  that  direction  it 
seemed  to  them  they  must  get  away  at  all  costs, 
and  they  made  a dash  across  the  river  which  brought 
the  whole  of  the  Maroon  marksmen  upon  them. 
Their  dead  they  abandoned,  which  was  right  enough, 
but  they  abandoned  their  wounded  also.  Harassed, 
fatigued,  defeated  men,  they  fled  back  to  the  quarters 
in  St  George’s  they  had  left  with  such  high  hopes 
three  days  before. 

And  those  who  were  left  behind  ? The  Maroons 
probably  came  down  and  butchered  them,  but  one 
man  certainly  told  them  of  the  peace  made  with 
Cudjoe’s  Maroons  in  the  west.  It  seemed  to  them 
hardly  likely,  but  they  debated  whether  they  should 
spare  his  life  and  send  him  to  the  Governor  an 
emissary,  to  say  that  they  too  would  like  to  come 
in  on  the  same  terms.  Poor  soldier  of  the  eighteenth 


190 


THE  MAROONS 


century,  whose  name  even  we  do  not  know. 
Quao  and  his  leading  men  were  rather  in  favour  of 
sending  him.  But  the  soldier’s  evil  star  was  in  the 
ascendant.  There  arose  an  Obeah  woman,  and 
she  declared  that  the  powers  of  darkness  demanded 
the  life  of  the  white  man  who  had  fallen  into  their 
hands,  and  they  struck  off  his  head  with  a machete. 

Again  the  Government  decided  this  was  an 
enemy  who  were  too  strong  for  them,  and  three 
months  later  Captain  Adair  went  out  with  another 
party,  not  to  fight  but  to  make  peace.  By  the 
purest  accident  they  captured  a horn-man,  and  him 
they  told  of  the  offer,  dealing  with  him  gently,  probably 
greatly  to  his  surprise.  And  from  him  they  heard 
how  the  Maroons  had  discussed  the  news  told  by 
the  luckless  soldier.  Since  by  a miracle  it  was  true, 
he  agreed  gladly  to  lead  the  soldiers  to  their  town, 
only  impressing  upon  them  how  impossible  it  would 
be  to  take  it  by  force.  Captain  Adair  gave  himself 
up  to  the  guidance  of  the  horn-man.  And  the  story 
of  Cudjoe  and  the  Western  Maroons  was  repeated, 
only  Captain  Adair  had  not  so  great  a difficulty  in 
convincing  the  savage  warriors  of  his  good  intention. 
The  massacred  soldier  had  helped  him  greatly  there. 

“After  some  parley  they  agreed  to  exchange  a 
captain  for  the  purposes  of  settling  preliminaries.” 

That  savage  leader  must  have  been  an  artist. 
There  was  a touch  of  true  drama  in  the  way  he 
staged  the  scene.  No  sooner  had  these  things  been 
agreed  upon  than  the  Maroons,  each  with  a stroke 
of  his  machete,  cleared  more  than  an  acre  of  light 
brushwood  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  and  so 
exposed  to  the  view  of  the  soldiers  the  whole  body 
of  savage  warriors  ranged  on  the  slope  in  order  of 
battle. 

Standing  thus,  the  two  parties  came  to  an  agree- 


“BUCKRA!  BUCKRA!” 


191 


merit,  and  not  till  that  was  done  were  the  soldiers 
allowed  to  enter  the  town  with  their  drums  beating. 

The  horn-man  was  right.  It  would  have  been 
wellnigh  impossible  to  take  that  town,  for  as  they 
climbed  up  one  steep  hill  and  down  another  they 
noted  the  holes  dug  to  cover  the  defenders,  and  the 
crossed  sticks  for  resting  the  guns  with  which  they 
had  enfiladed  every  angle,  that  from  the  steepness  it 
was  necessary  to  make  in  ascending. 

But  the  white  men  by  favour  were  in  the  town 
and  they  left  there  a Lieutenant  Thicknesse  as  a 
hostage,  and  he  told  afterwards  that  Quao’s  chil- 
dren could  not  refrain  from  striking  their  pointed 
fingers  at  his  breast  as  they  would  have  done  knives, 
calling  “Buckra!  Buckra!”  The  women,  he  says, 
wore  by  way  of  decoration  necklaces  of  human  teeth, 
which  they  declared  were  white  men's,  and  the  jaw- 
bone of  the  unfortunate  who  had  brought  the  first 
intelligence  of  Cudjoe's  peace  adorned  one  of  their 
horns,  a truly  Ashanti  way  of  making  memorial  of  a 
slain  ambassador. 

And  thus  the  white  men  came  to  terms  with  the 
Maroons  of  the  east  as  they  had  done  with  those 
of  the  west,  and  the  weary  island  breathed  freely 
and  sighing,  said  at  least  they  had  disposed  of  one 
danger — and  so  they  had — for  more  than  fifty  years. 
That  is  to  say,  the  white  people  of  Jamaica  had 
adapted  themselves  to  the  thorn  which  was  for  ever 
in  their  side. 

The  Maroons,  they  say,  far  excelled  in  strength 
and  symmetry  all  the  other  negroes  in  Jamaica. 
They  were  blacker,  taller  and  handsomer.  Once 
they  were  at  peace,  the  life  of  a Maroon  was  far 
from  being  unhappy,  even  though  white  men  lived 
among  them  nominally  to  rule  them.  Their  moun- 
tain homes  were  cool  and  healthy,  fully  ten  or  fifteen 


192 


THE  MAROONS 


degrees  of  temperature  below  that  of  Montego  Bay 
or  Falmouth,  and  the  surroundings  were  lovely. 

From  the  mountain-side  where  we  dwelt  at  the 
Hyde,  we  looked  out  over  wooded  hill  and  valley, 
coconut  palms  cut  the  sky-line,  in  the  deeper  hollows 
was  the  vivid  green  of  sugar  cane,  and  the  bottoms 
between  the  hills  were  pasture  land  whereon  were 
mules  and  horses  and  cattle,  red  and  white.  Always 
it  was  hill  and  dale,  woodland  and  pasture,  and 
flamboyant  trees  made  splashes  of  gorgeous  colour, 
there  were  clumps  of  dark  green  pimento  trees  like 
the  myrtle  groves  wherein  the  gods  of  ancient  Greece 
held  high  revel,  there  were  orange  trees  and  lemon 
trees  with  golden  fruit  and  white  blossoms  that  filled 
the  air  with  fragrance  ; by  moonlight  it  was  fairyland 
and  with  the  dawn  all  along  the  valleys  and  low- 
lands and  in  the  clefts  of  the  hills  lay  a fleecy,  soft 
grey  mist,  the  softest,  tenderest  mist  that  refreshed 
the  land  and  added  to  its  luxuriant  fertility.  And 
a little  higher  up,  standing  beneath  a symmetrical 
broad  leaf  or  a giant  cotton  tree,  it  was  possible  to 
see  the  blue  Caribbean  flecked  with  white  waves  or 
stilly  reflecting  the  cloudless  blue  sky  above.  A 
lovely  land  the  Maroons  had  for  themselves  for  all 
time,  and  they  loved  it  these  long  lithe  warrior  slaves 
with  the  quick  wild  and  fiery  eyes.  But  savages  they 
were,  and  it  was  to  keep  some  sort  of  check  upon 
them  that  a white  superintendent  with  helpers  was 
set  to  live  amongst  them.  Principally  it  seemed  he 
was  there  to  see  that  they  did  not  maintain  too 
friendly  relations  with  the  slaves  from  the  planta- 
tions. He  was  bound  to  reside  in  the  town,  from 
which  he  could  not  be  absent  longer  than  a fort- 
night, and  every  three  months  he  had  to  make  a 
return  on  oath  to  the  Governor  of  the  number 
residing  in  his  town,  how  many  were  able  to  bear 


LAWS  FOR  THE  MAROONS 


193 


arms,  how  many  were  fit  for  duty,  the  number  of 
women  and  children,  their  increase  and  decrease. 

So  the  white  people  kept  in  touch  with  their 
former  enemies. 

And  the  principal  job  of  those  enemies  was  to 
bring  in  runaways.  They  did  that  undoubtedly, 
and  presently  a law  was  passed  allowing  not  only 
the  usual  reward,  but  a little  extra  if  the  slave  was 
brought  in  alive. 

They  might  have  dances  among  themselves,  and 
provided  the  dance  was  in  the  daytime  with  a small 
number  of  slaves.  But  the  slaves  were  not  to  gather 
in  Maroon  Town  and  they  were  not  to  hold  slaves 
of  their  own. 

And  lest  they  should  be  a danger  to  the  country 
no  party  in  pursuit  of  runaways  was  to  consist  of 
more  than  twelve  men  and  was  not  to  remain  out 
more  than  twenty  days,  and  before  they  went  out 
they  had  to  be  provided  with  a written  order  from 
their  superintendent.  They  were  not  to  be  em- 
ployed by  any  white  person  without  a written  agree- 
ment and  they  were  not  to  be  whipped  or  otherwise 
ill-treated,  and  as  they  increased  fast  they  had  the 
right  to  relinquish  their  rights  as  Maroons  and  to 
live  elsewhere  in  the  island  as  free  blacks. 

Some  of  these  laws  had  very  little  attention  paid 
them.  They  kept  slaves  and  bought  them,  they 
wandered  about  the  island  apparently  wherever  they 
chose,  and  many  of  them  formed  temporary  connec- 
tions with  the  women  on  the  plantations.  And  so 
slack  were  they  in  their  search  for  runaways  that  a 
large  body  of  these  emulated  the  Maroons  them- 
selves, and  lived  for  over  twenty  years  in  the  heart 
of  the  mountains  between  the  eastern  and  the  western 
Maroons. 

The  planters  made  no  objections  to  their  con- 


194 


THE  MAROONS 


nections  with  their  slaves,  for  the  children  of  such 
connections  belonged  to  them  and  were  likely  to 
have  the  strength  and  vigour  of  their  fathers.  But 
though  the  Maroons  left  these  children  in  bondage 
as  carelessly  as  did  the  whites  in  like  case,  still  the 
connections  thus  formed  must  have  broken  away  in 
a small  measure  the  bitterness  that  was  supposed 
to  exist  between  the  Maroon  and  the  slave,  and 
every  child  by  his  very  vigour  deepened  the  danger 
that  for  ever  threatened  the  planters. 

However,  it  was  peace  between  the  planters  and 
the  black  freebooters,  nominally  at  least  for  over 
fifty  years.  Doubtless  there  was  much  friction  and 
discontent,  but  things  always  quieted  down,  till  in 
1795  the  smouldering  fire  broke  into  flames  again. 

The  causes  of  the  second  Maroon  war  as  given 
by  Dallas  and  others  point  to  gross  mismanagement 
on  the  part  of  someone,  but  we  can  hardly  judge  now 
of  the  provocation  on  either  side. 

Anyhow,  there  was  trouble  with  the  super- 
intendent, a white  man  whom  the  Maroons  liked 
and  trusted,  but  who  apparently  was  so  slack  he 
was  away  from  his  post  for  weeks  at  a time,  and 
the  Government  suspended  him  and  placed  another 
man  in  his  place.  Then  two  Maroons,  whom  the 
Maroons  openly  said  they  counted  of  little  w^orth, 
stole  some  hogs,  and  were  apprehended  and  taken 
to  Montego  Bay  and  given  thirty-nine  lashes  by — 
and  there  lay  the  sting  for  the  unconquered  Maroons 
— a common  slave  in  the  workhouse. 

This  was  strongly  resented  and  the  Maroons 
threw  out  their  new  superintendent,  and  we  can 
imagine  the  excitement  and  dismay  in  Montego  Bay 
when  the  dismissed  man  came  riding  down  the 
mountains.  The  inhabitants  doubtless  looked  with 
relief  upon  the  grey  stone  walls  of  the  fort  that 


A MAROON  OF  EXQUISITE  SYMMETRY  195 

overlooked  the  bay,  and  took  care  to  have  in  order 
those  stout  stone  houses  with  walls  over  two  feet 
thick.  I have  lived  in  one  of  them.  Those  walls 
certainly  would  have  been  a protection  against  a 
savage  foe. 

The  militia  were  called  out  and  moved  forward 
into  the  woods.  So  small  is  the  island,  so  close 
they  were,  that  Maroon  Town  can  only  have  been 
about  seventeen  miles  from  Montego  Bay,  even 
taking  into  account  all  the  hairpin-turns,  and  it 
was  nothing  like  that  as  the  crow  flies. 

It  can  hardly  have  been  pleasant  to  have  a 
band  of  bloodthirsty  savages  so  close,  and  here  the 
sycophant  Bridges,  who  for  some  reason  does  not 
spare  Lord  Balcarres,  the  new  Governor  of  the 
island,  and  blamed  him  for  the  second  Maroon  war, 
becomes  quite  poetical  on  the  subject  of  the  meeting 
of  the  militia  with  the  enemy. 

‘‘The  militia,'’  he  says,  “moved  forward  to  the 
supposed  scene  of  action  and  were  met  in  the  woods 
by  a Maroon  of  exquisite  symmetry  and  noble 
address,  who  descended  the  side  of  the  mountain 
with  the  step  of  an  antelope,  and  giving  a wild 
and  graceful  flourish  to  his  lance  presented  a letter 
requesting  a conference  with  the  chief  magistrate 
of  the  district  and  with  certain  other  individuals 
whom  it  named.  The  proposal  was  accepted  and 
their  terms  heard.” 

They  wanted  their  superintendent  back  and  they 
got  him,  and  they  had  all  the  children  in  their  town 
baptized  as  an  evidence  of  good  faith;  they  went 
further  still,  and  when  the  authorities  requested 
their  leaders  to  come  in,  they  came  in,  thirty-nine 
of  them,  came  in  peace,  and  those  same  authorities, 
who  vowed  all  they  desired  was  peace,  promptly 
bound  the  hands  of  all  but  old  Montague  the  chief 


196 


THE  MAROONS 


behind  them,  marched  them  through  the  streets  of 
the  town  with  crowds  of  slaves  jeering  at  them  and 
shut  them  up  in  Montego  Bay  jail.  To  be  behind 
any  walls  must  have  been  hard;  for  these  free 
mountaineers  to  be  confined  in  an  eighteenth  century 
jail  in  summer  in  the  tropics  must  have  been  a 
purgatory  for  which  we  can  have  no  words.  One 
of  them  put  an  end  to  his  life  by  tearing  out  his 
bowels.  Yet  so  utterly  blind  were  the  authorities 
that  they  took  two  of  the  men  and  sent  them  back 
to  their  own  people  “to  induce  them  to  surrender!” 
It  doubtless  came  as  a sm’prise  to  the  whites 
that  these  two  messengers  instead  of  recommending 
instant  surrender  did  exactly  the  opposite.  At  any 
rate,  “upon  the  report  they  made  of  the  reception 
and  treatment  of  the  thirty-seven,  the  Maroons,  far 
from  following  the  others”  (I  am  quoting  Dallas) 
“immediately  set  fire  to  both  their  towns.”  When 
they  surrendered  in  1739,  their  numbers  did  not 
exceed  600,  but  when  the  second  war  broke  out 
they  had  increased  to  over  1400,  and  when  we 
remember  that  they  dwelt  among  impregnable 
mountains  and  held  the  back  settlers  at  their  mercy, 
we  can  understand  in  a measure  the  divided  councils 
that  led  to  the  war.  Many  men  thought  nothing 
was  too  bad  for  a Maroon,  and  it  would  be  safer  to 
extirpate  them.  They  would  have  treated  them  as 
we  treat  dangerous  vermin,  killed  them  whenever 
and  wherever  they  got  the  chance.  We  have  only 
to  read  Bridges  thirty  years  later  to  know  how  some 
of  the  colonists  thought  of  the  men  with  African 
blood  in  their  veins. 

“ They  had  not  been  watched  with  that  vigilance 
which  African  perfidy  requires,”  says  Bridges,  speaking 
of  the  slaves  in  one  place,  and  what  applied  to  the 
slaves  applied  still  more  to  the  Maroons.  Everyone 


BUSH  FIGHTING 


197 

felt  they  must  be  coerced.  They  were  a danger  to 
the  country,  and  while  I sympathise  with  them  very 
strongly,  I think  they  were.  Undoubtedly,  apart 
from  any  particular  provocation,  if  Jamaica  were 
to  be  held  as  a slave  country,  these  1400  free  black 
people  dwelling  in  the  heart  of  her  mountains  had 
to  be  subdued  at  any  cost.  They  were  talking  of 
the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade  in  England,  and 
doubtless  the  planters  feared  the  effect  of  such  talk 
both  upon  their  slaves  and  the  Maroons,  should  they 
come  to  hear  of  it. 

‘'These  insolent  savages  must  be  subdued,’'  said 
the  colony  with  the  Governor  at  their  head,  and 
accordingly,  unmindful  of  the  lessons  of  over  fifty 
years  ago,  set  out  to  subdue  them  by  the  old  methods. 
But  there  were  roads  up  to  Maroon  Town  now,  roads 
made  and  kept  open  by  the  Maroons  themselves, 
roads  winding  and  narrow,  cut  along  the  hillside 
among  the  tropical  greenery ; the  mango  and  easily- 
grown  bamboo,  the  beautiful  ackee  with  its  bright 
green  leaves  and  brilliant  red  pods,  orange  trees, 
the  dark  green  coffee  with  its  fragrant  white  flower, 
and  annotto  with  its  clusters  of  ruby  berries.  But 
the  soldiers  noticed  none  of  these  things.  They 
went  up  and  up,  and  they  must  have  found  it  very 
hard  work  in  August. 

Their  leader.  Colonel  Sandford,  knew  little  enough 
about  bush  fighting,  but  he  was  joined  by  Mr 
Bobertson,  the  Commanding  Ofiicer  at  Fort  Balling 
and  the  owner  of  a pen  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
he  brought  with  him  a Trelawny  Town  Maroon 
named  Thomas,  who  undertook  to  act  as  guide  to 
the  white  forces  and  faithfully  carried  out  his  pact. 
Colonel  Sandford  got  so  far  that  he  saw  the  Maroons 
on  the  heights  between  their  town  and  Schaw  Castle, 
a pen  in  the  mountains,  and  probably  would  have 

o 


198  THE  MAROONS 

been  content  with  his  success  had  he  not  received 
from  Lord  Balcarres  an  order  to  take  New  Town. 
The  way  was  a long  defile  between  the  mountains, 
and  just  at  the  hom^  of  sunset  he  entered  it  at  the 
head  of  his  dragoons.  The  enemy  let  them  get 
well  into  the  defile,  the  column  was  half  its  length, 
and  when  it  had  gone  two-thirds  of  the  way  they  let 
off,  all  down  the  left  of  that  column  from  one  end  to 
the  other  in  the  darkening  light,  a tremendous  volley 
of  small  arms,  they  themselves  being  hidden  from 
sight  by  trees  and  rocks.  It  was  the  old,  old  tactics 
of  Cudjoe  that  you  would  have  thought  the  island 
men  at  least  might  have  expected.  But  in  Cudjoe’s 
day  there  had  been  no  roads.  Perhaps  it  was  that 
well-made  road  that  deceived  them. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done ; they  must 
reach  the  open  spaces  round  the  town  out  of  reach 
of  these  marksmen  hidden  behind  the  trees.  They 
quickened  their  pace,  urged  on  by  the  cries  of  the 
wounded  and  groans  of  the  dying.  Luckily,  in  the 
uncertain  light  the  marksmanship  had  not  been  very 
good,  or  I do  not  know  how  anyone  could  have 
escaped.  Then,  just  as  they  reached  Old  Town  there 
was  another  shot,  and  Colonel  Sandford  fell.  He 
was  dead.  And  the  wildest  panic  ensued.  At  least 
this  is  what  Dallas  says.  There  was  but  one  thought 
uppermost  in  their  minds — to  get  away.  Un- 
doubtedly they  could  have  held  the  town  had  there 
been  anyone  whom  they  trusted  to  lead  them,  and 
undoubtedly  they  made  no  such  effort.  There  was 
no  one  whose  orders  they  would  obey.  The  darkness 
gave  them  just  the  help  they  needed.  In  the  muiL 
and  pouring  rain  they  squelched  their  way  down 
the  slippery  mountain  paths,  sure  that  dragoons  were 
totally  unfitted  for  mountain  warfare,  and  so  overjoyed 
at  their  escape  from  a handful  of  savages  that  they 


A RIOTOUS  SCENE 


199 


fired  off  their  muskets,  made  a tremendous  row,  and 
generally  misbehaved  themselves.  It  is  all  very  well 
to  think  scorn  of  them  now,  but  the  densely- wooded 
mountains  were  terrible,  they  had  seen  their  leader 
fall  and  they  were  certainly  both  by  training  and 
equipment  totally  unfitted  to  cope  with  savages 
on  the  warpath. 

That  night  there  was  a riotous  scene.  Lord 
Balcarres,  we  are  told,  having  slipped  on  a plank 
made  slippery  by  the  rain  had  “a  contusion  over 
the  eye,”  if  he  hadn’t  been  a lord  and  the  Governor 
it  would  have  been  a black  eye,  and  it  might  well 
have  been  attributed  to  another  cause.  But  it  did 
not  add  to  his  beauty,  and  the  soldiers  rushing  into 
the  camp  wild  with  delight  at  having  escaped,  made 
such  an  uproar  that  only  the  Governor  could  cope 
with  it.  The  night,  indeed,  was  disgraceful  to  both 
sides,  for  the  Maroons,  instead  of  following  up  their 
very  great  success,  retired  to  their  town  and  recruited 
their  spirits  with  such  copious  draughts  of  rum  as 
made  them  “frantic  and  desperate.”  Sixty  of  them 
by  their  own  account  lay  in  a state  of  insensibility 
till  two  o’clock  the  next  day,  when  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  women  and  the  less  intoxicated  men 
they  were  removed  to  the  cockpits  of  Petit  Eiver. 
Had  the  troops  gone  up  that  morning,  more  than  a 
fourth  of  the  young  Maroon  men  must  have  fallen 
into  their  hands. 

“It  is  much  to  be  regretted,”  says  Dallas,  who 
wrote  within  seven  years  of  the  catastrophe,  and  at 
least  must  have  known  something  of  the  general  talk, 
“that  the  panic  by  which  the  troops  were  hurried 
away  to  headquarters  prevented  their  occupying  the 
site  of  the  Old  Town  after  they  were  in  possession 
of  it,  and  might  have  maintained  it  without  resist- 
ance. The  immediate  encamping  there  would  not 


200 


THE  MAROONS 


only  have  saved  the  lives  of  many  who  died  of  their 
wounds,  or  through  fatigue,  but  would  have  left  on 
the  minds  of  the  Maroons  an  impression  that  even 
their  defiles  were  not  to  be  depended  on ; whereas 
abandoning  the  town  was  giving  them  a triumph 
and  confirming  their  reliance  on  their  position.” 

In  this  disastrous  affair  there  fell  Colonel  Sand- 
ford  of  the  dragoons.  Colonel  Gallimore  of  the 
militia,  fifteen  dragoons,  thirteen  militia,  eight  volun- 
teers and  not  a single  Maroon.  Xo  wonder  they 
celebrated  a victory.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  the 
Maroons  that  none  of  the  wounded  were  taken  and 
put  to  torture,  but  most  died  where  they  fell  or 
crawled  into  the  woods  and  died  for  want  of  the 
help  that  was  not  forthcoming,  although  they  were 
within  so  short  a distance  of  the  town  on  the  sea- 
shore below,  and  close  to  so  many  pens  and  planta- 
tions. Colonel  Gallimore’s  body  was  never  found, 
and  though  the  Maroons  yielded  up  watches,  knives, 
pencils,  and  other  things  from  the  dead  and  wounded, 
nothing  of  his  was  ever  forthcoming.  So  it  is  thought 
he  must  have  been  wounded  and  crawling  away, 
favoured  by  the  coming  darkness,  have  found  some 
retreat  where  he  died  for  want  of  care.  Dallas  says 
he  was  a brave,  active  man  much  beloved,  but  he  was 
never  seen  again,  and  the  dense  woodlands  of  the 
cockpits  have  never  so  far  as  I know  yielded  up 
their  secrets. 

Things  could  not  be  left  so.  It  was  resolved  to 
surround  the  scene  of  action,  and  they  called  up 
reinforcements,  100  men  from  the  62nd  Regiment,  a 
detachment  of  the  17th  Light  Dragoons  and  large 
bodies  of  militia.  The  soldiers  could  and  did  get  at 
the  provision  grounds  and  destroy  them,  though  all 
round  they  could  hear  the  weird  blowing  of  the 
Maroon  horns,  mom'nful,  threatening,  even  trium- 


CHINTZ  NIGHTGOWNS 


201 


phant  and  defiant.  They  were  not  beaten,  they 
were  not  going  to  be  beaten,  said  those  horns. 
‘'Wait  till  we  get  you!”  and  then  the  angry 
soldiers  fired  into  the  gullies  at  random,  and  the 
mountains  echoed  and  re-echoed  to  the  noise  of 
the  discharge,  and  the  Maroons  were  not  a penny 
the  worse,  for  even  the  destruction  of  their  provision 
grounds  did  not  worry  them  over  much.  They  knew 
where  to  get  fresh  supplies. 

And  it  rained  and  rained  and  rained.  In  these 
mountains  where  it  is  lush  and  green  and  the 
vegetation  grows  riotously,  there  is  sometimes  as 
much  as  30  inches  of  rain  in  a month.  All  the  paths 
were  slimy  and  slippery,  every  overhanging  branch 
held  a heavy  shower-bath,  the  men  were  soaked  to 
their  skins  again  and  again,  laying  the  foundation  as 
everyone  believed  of  all  the  deadly  fevers  with  which 
the  country  was  credited. 

The  only  comfort  they  had  was  that  things  were 
a little  disturbing  to  the  enemy  too,  for  hidden  in 
the  bush  the  attacking  party  found  various  trunks 
containing  articles  of  linen  and  plate,  the  result  of 
raids  on  the  plantations,  and  many  of  the  dragoons 
up  here  in  the  rain  furnished  themselves  with  chintz 
nightgowns.  I like  that  last  touch.  Yet  all  the 
time  the  Maroons  were  so  close  in  the  jungle  they 
could  hear  the  orders  given  but  did  not  attack, 
because  they  feared  the  white  men  were  too  far  in 
to  run  away  and  were  in  such  numbers  they,  the 
Maroons,  could  not  escape  if  driven  to  bay. 

But  having  conceded  so  much  to  the  valour  of 
the  white  men,  they  did  pretty  much  as  they  pleased, 
even  passing  the  soldiers  camped  at  Vaughansfield 
at  eleven  o’clock  one  night  and  burning  the  buildings 
on  a pen  only  six  miles  away  on  the  road  to  Montego 
Bay.  There  was  consternation  in  Montego  Bay  and 


202 


THE  MAROONS 


thankfulness,  that  at  least  headquarters  was  between 
the  town  and  the  dreaded  enemy.  The  raid  quickened 
up  tlie  preparations,  they  dragged  guns  up  the  steep 
and  slippery  defiles  that  converged  upon  the  Old 
Town,  found  no  Maroons  there,  though  round  in 
the  mountains  the  horns  were  calling  defiance,  and 
they  recovered  the  bodies  of  Colonel  Sandford  and 
eighteen  of  those  who  had  fallen  with  him. 

Lord  Balcarres  grew  tired  of  this  unprofitable 
warfare  and  went  back  to  Montego  Bay,  and,  extra- 
ordinary as  it  seems  now,  they  put  a price  on  the 
heads  of  Palmer  and  Parkinson,  the  men  who  had 
been  sent  back  to  tell  the  other  Maroons  what  had 
happened  to  the  thirty- seven  men  who  had  come  in, 
for  they  said  these  men  had  instigated  the  rebellion. 
But  that  these  two  always  denied.  They  always 
maintained  that  when  the  Maroons  heard  what  had 
happened  to  their  messengers  of  peace,  each  man  of 
his  own  accord  set  fire  to  his  house,  determined  to 
die  rather  than  come  in. 

And  so  bitter  were  they,  not  unnaturally,  that 
a captain  of  Accompong  Maroons,  who  had  gone  by 
a secret  path  to  persuade  them  to  surrender,  was 
promptly  shot  because  they  feared  he  knew  too  much 
about  the  approaches  to  their  strongholds. 

The  great  mistake  probably  lay  in  bringing  in 
soldiers  who  could  know  nothing  of  the  difficulties 
of  the  country.  There  must  have  been  many  stal- 
wart young  men,  in  fact  we  know  there  were,  who 
were  expert  hunters  and  woodsmen  and  fully  com- 
petent to  deal  with  such  an  enemy.  The  difficulty  was 
the  leader.  Brave  men  were  a drug  in  the  market, 
a clever  leader  almost  impossible  to  find.  Counsels 
were  always  divided.  A soldier  fresh  from  Europe 
or  from  the  parade  ground  clearly  was  not  the  right 
man,  but  it  always  ended  in  a soldier  being  chosen. 


A CALL  FROM  THE  HILLS 


203 


When  Lord  Balcarres  gave  up  a command  which 
did  not  seem  likely  to  cover  him  with  glory,  he 
handed  it  over  to  Colonel  Fitch,  and  General  Reid 
came  and  occupied  the  quarters  at  Vaughansfield 
with  detachments  of  militia  from  the  St  James, 
Hanover  and  Westmoreland  regiments.  They 
marched  and  they  counter-marched,  and  the  militia 
quarrelled  with  the  regulars  and  they  both  consumed 
an  immense  amount  of  ammunition  and  food,  but 
came  no  nearer  to  getting  those  Maroons.  And 
still  it  rained  and  the  militia  grew  sick  of  the 
fruitless  job,  declared  they  had  work  on  their 
plantations  that  must  be  attended  to — the  companies 
were  relieved  every  fortnight,  and  it  grew  more  and 
more  difficult  to  collect  men  to  take  their  place. 
And  Colonel  Fitch  with  the  aid  of  slaves  set  about 
the  clearing  of  the  country  as  well  as  he  was  able, 
but  it  was  a job  that  is  not  finished  yet,  so  he  only 
got  a little  done,  and  the  Maroons  used  to  come  into 
the  hills  above  his  quarters  and  call  him,  and  at  last 
he  responded  to  their  call  and  they  told  him  they 
only  wanted  a free  pardon  and  a promise  that  they 
should  not  be  sent  from  the  island.  This  seemed  to 
him  reasonable  enough  and  he  promised  to  do  what 
he  could  for  them,  and  allowed  two  of  them  to  go 
on  a safe  conduct  to  visit  their  friends  imprisoned  at 
Montego  Bay. 

It  was  a wrong  move.  The  Governor,  dreading 
lest  the  Maroons  should  raid  the  little  town,  had 
had  the  prisoners  moved  to  a vessel  in  the  bay  for 
their  better  security,  and  the  men  returned  reporting 
that  they  were  in  a ship  and  were  evidently  going  to 
be  taken  away.  From  that  time  no  more  Maroons 
visited  Colonel  Fitch ; they  were  prepared  to  die 
for  their  freedom. 

But  in  true  barbaric  fashion  they  saw  to  it  that 


204 


THE  MAROONS 


a goodly  company  should  attend  them  across  the 
river.  Colonel  Fitch,  preparatory  to  an  assault,  set 
gangs  of  slaves  to  clear  the  ground  with  companies 
of  militia  to  guard  them,  and  the  Maroons  laid  an 
ambush  and  killed  ten  of  the  slaves  and  six  of  the 
militia,  so  that  I presume  clearing  away  undergrowth 
was  popular  neither  with  soldiers  nor  bondsmen. 
This  certainly  set  the  slaves  against  the  Maroons. 
The  militia  were  already  as  hostile  as  was  possible. 

I cannot  say  too  often  it  was  an  awful  country. 
There  was  a certain  Captain  Lee  who  commanded 
an  advance  post  set  in  the  dense  jungle  and  fenced 
by  high  palisades,  and  he  complained  that  from  the 
hillsides  above  the  Maroons  could  shoot  into  it,  and 
he  asked  Colonel  Fitch  to  move  it.  Accordingly 
Colonel  Fitch,  bent  on  seeing  things  for  himself, 
with  Colonel  Jackson  and  several  other  officers, 
and  accompanied  by  two  Accompong  Maroons  went 
to  inspect.  The  Accompongs  did  not  like  the  job. 
They  declared  the  Maroons  were  too  close,  and 
pointed  out  where  they  had  thrown  away  the  heads 
of  wild  cocos  and  eddoes,  broad-leaved  plants,  and 
the  leaves  were  not  yet  withered.  But  the  white 
men,  with  incredible  folly  which  perhaps  does  them 
credit,  were  unwilling  to  go  back  before  they  had 
accomplished  something,  and,  persuading  Colonel 
Fitch  to  allow  them  to  go  ahead.  Colonel  Jackson 
and  one  or  two  others  went  on,  still  accompanied 
by  the  unwilling  Accompongs,  and  followed  slowly 
by  the  Commanding  Officer  till  they  came  to  a place 
where  the  road  forked.  They  were  descending  now 
so  steep  a declivity  that  they  could  only  go  one 
at  a time,  holding  on  by  their  hands.  Then  history 
repeated  itself.  There  was  a tremendous  volley  of 
small  arms,  an  officer  named  Brisset  was  seen 
staggering  among  the  bushes,  both  the  Accompongs 


THE  DYING  LEADER 


205 


fell  dead,  and  Colonel  Jackson  ran  back  on  ground 
lower  than  the  path.  We  can  see  him  stooping 
low  to  escape  possible  shots,  taking  all  advantage 
he  could  of  the  cover  till  he  came  back  to  Colonel 
Fitch,  seated  on  a fallen  tree,  his  arm  supported 
by  a projecting  stump  and  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand.  Once  more  the  Maroons  had  got  the 
Commander-in-Chief.  The  blood  was  trickling  from 
the  middle  of  his  waistcoat,  and  the  short  red  and 
brown  striped  linen  jacket  which  he  wore  stuck  out 
behind  ‘‘as  if  a rib  had  been  broken.”  Such  was 
Colonel  Jackson's  description.  He  was  mortally 
wounded.  Jackson  caught  his  hand. 

“It  is  Jackson,  your  friend  Jackson.  Look  at 
me,”  and  he  drew  out  a dagger,  saying  that  he  should 
not  fall  alive  into  the  hands  of  the  Maroons  and 
he  would  die  with  him  rather  than  leave  him. 
Remember,  they  all  feared  torture.  The  dying  man 
turned  his  face  towards  his  friend  (he  was  at  peace 
with  all  men  now,  even  with  the  Maroons)  and  looked 
at  him  kindly,  though  he  was  past  speech,  and  then 
Jackson  heard  the  cocking  of  guns,  click,  click,  click, 
one  after  another,  horribly  close,  and  called  to  the 
soldiers  to  lie  down,  and  tried  to  drag  his  friend 
down  beside  him.  But  Fitch  resisted,  turning  his 
head  as  if  he  too  would  have  spoken  to  the  men, 
and  so,  though  little  harm  was  done  to  the  men 
who  had  obeyed  the  order  promptly,  their  dying 
leader  was  shot  again  through  the  forehead  and 
there  was  no  need  for  Jackson  to  consider  his 
condition  any  longer. 

It  was  a great  victory  for  the  Maroons.  Several 
of  the  party  were  killed  and  many  more  wounded, 
among  them  the  Captain  Lee,  who  had  come  in 
because  his  little  palisaded  fort  was  hardly  tenable. 
Colonel  Jackson  collected  the  men  from  Lee's  post 


206 


THE  MAROONS 


and  took  them  all  back  to  Colonel  Fitch’s  quarters, 
where  one  died  the  next  morning  and  Captain  Lee 
a day  or  two  later.  Eight  altogether  were  killed 
and  seven  wounded,  but  none  were  more  regretted 
than  Colonel  Fitch.  We  are  told  he  was  tall  and 
graceful,  and  a charming  young  man. 

“He  threw  around  his  hut,”  says  Dallas,  using 
the  language  of  the  time,  “a  certain  elegance  that 
bespoke  the  gentleman.  His  private  virtues  endeared 
him  to  his  friends  to  whom  his  death  was  a deep 
wound.” 

Great  was  the  consternation  in  Jamaica,  for  riot 
was  let  loose  in  the  mountains.  Seventy  men  were 
dead  and  twenty-three  were  wounded.  Listen  to 
the  tale  of  rapine.  Brook’s  House  was  burnt ; Schaw 
Castle  was  burnt ; Bandon  was  burnt ; Shand’s  was 
burnt ; Stephen  and  Bernard’s  House  was  burnt  ; 
Kenmure  was  burnt  and  twelve  negroes  carried 
away.  Darliston  trash-house  was  burnt;  Catadupa, 
Lapland,  and  Mocha  were  burnt  and  two  negroes 
carried  away.  There  is  a little  block-house  of  stone 
on  Lapland  with  loopholes  in  the  walls,  a most 
substantial  place,  but  the  roof  has  not  been  on  in 
the  memory  of  anyone  living,  and  I wondered  very 
much  whether  this  was  the  Lapland  that  was  burnt 
by  the  Maroons ; and  we  passed  by  Mocha,  connected 
by  an  aerial  rope  railway  on  which  were  slung  cars 
that  descended  with  bananas  to  the  country  below. 
All  these  steep  hillsides  are  flourishing  fields  of 
bananas  now.  Catadupa  is  lovely  as  its  name,  and 
there  are  one  or  two  cottages  there  in  which  winter 
visitors  may  stay,  revelling  in  a climate  where  the 
days  are  delightful,  the  nights  gorgeous,  and  the 
mornings  and  evenings  divine. 

Those  freebooters  did  well.  Not  a man  of  them 
is  known  to  liave  suffered.  No  wonder  the  colony 


A WRONG  TURNING 


207 


was  roused  to  a simmer  of  excitement.  I wonder — 
as  probably  some  of  the  colonists  wondered — why 
the  slaves  did  not  rise  in  a body,  join  these  men 
of  their  own  colour  and  make  a bold  bid  for  freedom. 

General  Walpole  was  put  in  command,  and  he 
began  entirely  different  tactics.  He  taught  his  men 
to  take  cover  as  the  Maroons  did,  so  that  there 
are  accounts  of  actions  in  which  a great  deal  of 
powder  was  expended  and  no  man  was  killed  on 
either  side,  and  he  began  to  clear  the  country  round 
the  mountains,  but  as  for  trying  to  keep  the  Maroons 
penned  in  he  knew  better.  “It  would  have  been 
just  as  feasible  as  to  pen  pigeons  in  a meadow.” 
He  employed  working  negroes  under  cover  of  strong 
advanced  parties  to  clear  the  heights  that  surrounded 
his  camp,  the  approaches  to  the  Maroon  defile,  and 
an  eminence  near  to  his  headquarters,  which  almost 
looked  into  a cockpit.  And  always  he  kept  the 
soldiers  on  the  move,  harrying  the  Maroons  success- 
fully on  the  whole,  but  once  a sergeant  and  ten  men 
took  a wrong  turning,  a thing  easy  enough  to  do 
in  the  mountains,  and  got  into  the  Maroon  defile, 
and  presently  the  men  who  were  waiting  for  that 
sergeant  to  bring  them  some  more  ammunition  heard 
heavy  firing,  and  not  one  man  returned  to  tell 
the  tale. 

And  the  soldiers  kept  clearing  the  country,  and 
the  Maroons  kept  breaking  out  in  unexpected  places, 
and  raiding  “like  wild  creatures  of  the  forest,  they 
found  issues  at  every  point.” 

Still  General  Walpole  had  high  hopes.  The  dry 
season  would  come  with  the  winter  months,  and 
where  he  knew  there  was  a spring  he  could  get  at, 
he  mounted  a howitzer  and  threw  shells  into  the 
cockpit  just  beyond  it.  And  some  of  the  springs 
go  dry  in  the  dry  season,  and  it  was  not  likely  the 


208 


THE  MAROONS 


Maroons  were  thrifty  and  conserved  water.  Though 
the  rains  in  the  mountains  are  plenteous  in  their 
season,  I have  myself  seen  the  people  come  miles 
from  that  cockpit  country  with  kerosene  tins  upon 
their  heads  to  get  water  from  the  nearest  spring 
which  happened  to  be  upon  the  Hyde. 

They  did  object  to  General  Walpole.  ‘‘Dam 
dat  little  buckra,’’  said  the  Maroons,  '‘he  cunning 
more  dan  dem  toder.  Dis  here  da  new  fashion  for 
fight.  Him  fire  him  big  ball  a’ter  we  an’  wen  de 
big  ball  top  de  dam  sunting  fire  we  agen.  Come 
boys,  make  we  go  take  farer  an’  see  wha  he 
do  den?” 

And  they  did  go  farther  and  were  driven  out 
again.  But  the  soldiers  had  to  be  fed,  and  one  day 
the  Maroons  surprised  a convoy  of  provisions, 
captured  the  ten  soldiers  guarding  it,  and  cut  off 
their  heads,  and  always  they  raided  the  negro 
provision  grounds  whether  the  slave  owners  liked 
it  or  not,  and  kept  themselves  well  supplied.  The 
soldiers  were  doing  better,  but  the  Maroons  were 
still  a thorn  in  their  side,  and  the  war  threatened 
to  be  long  and  prolonged,  which  was  bad  for  the 
prestige  of  the  white  people  if  nothing  else.  For 
nearly  five  months  this  body  of  untrained  negroes 
had  defied  the  military  force  of  the  island. 

The  Governor  called  a council  at  Falmouth,  a 
town  on  the  north  coast,  twenty  miles  from  Montego 
Bay — a very  despondent  council — and  it  was  actually 
proposed,  to  the  wrath  of  General  Walpole,  to  send 
into  the  woods  some  of  the  Maroon  chiefs  confined 
at  Montego  Bay,  men  who  had  been  confined  in 
irons,  as  ambassadors  to  persuade  the  rebels  to 
make  peace ! 

Falmouth  is  not  a town  that  attracts  me,  though  it 
has  a fine  situation  right  at  the  sea-shore  just  beyond 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  COURTHOUSE 


209 


the  mouth  of  the  Martha  Brae,  and  it  is  reminiscent 
of  the  days  of  long  ago.  The  houses  without 
verandahs,  without  even  a creeper  over  their  bare 
white  walls,  in  streets  without  the  vestige  of  a tree, 
look  hot  with  the  tropical  sun  pouring  down  upon 
them,  but  it  was  an  important  place  in  those  times, 
for  it  has  a harbour  into  which  quite  big  ships  may 
come,  and  those  houses  to  which  I objected  are  all 
mahogany  floored  with  mahogany  and  mahoe  panell- 
ing against  the  walls,  truly  the  houses  of  rich  people. 
In  the  courthouse,  where  probably  they  held  this 
meeting,  for  it  is  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  the 
town,  the  mahogany  flooring  is  simply  magnificent, 
and  kept  with  a shining  polish  that  could  not  well 
be  excelled  in  any  great  house  in  London  or  New 
York,  while  from  the  ceiling  hang  most  splendid 
chandeliers  of  cut  glass.  They  hold  balls  in  that 
room  occasionally,  and  then  they  light  those 
chandeliers,  and  all  the  thousand  and  one  facets  of 
the  cut  glass  reflect  the  light  back  on  to  the  dark, 
highly  polished  flooring,  and  the  deep  dark  flooring 
reflects  it  back  again,  and  the  girls  of  Trelawny 
and  St  James  have  as  magnificent  a setting  for  their 
youth  and  beauty  in  this  remote  corner  of  the 
Empire  as  ever  have  girls  in  London  Town.  And 
here,  more  than  a hundred  years  ago,  the  Governor 
of  the  colony  and  all  the  important  men  met  to 
decide  what  they  should  do  with  a party  of  banditti 
who  only  eighteen  miles  away  were  setting  the 
whole  island  at  defiance. 

Disaffected,  unconquered,  they  formed  a rallying 
point  for  every  discontented  slave  in  the  island. 
There  lay  tlie  danger,  the  danger  that  was  with  tliem 
always. 

But  no  one  had  any  proposition  to  make  till  a 
certain  Mr  Quarrell,  who  had  a plantation  near  to 


210 


THE  MAROONS 


Bluefields,  suggested  that  they  should  bring  dogs, 
the  hunting  dogs  the  Spaniards  kept  to  run  down 
their  slaves,  from  Cuba. 

Curiously  enough,  a people  who  seem  to  have 
hesitated  at  no  barbarity  where  their  slaves  were 
concerned,  hesitated  over  this  matter.  What  would 
the  rest  of  the  world  think  of  them  if  they  hunted 
men  with  dogs  ? However,  necessity  knows  no  law, 
and  finally  it  was  agreed  to  send  Mr  Quarrell  to 
Cuba  to  get  the  dogs,  and  the  men  who  could  manage 
them. 

The  tale  of  the  bringing  of  those  dogs  reads  like 
an  epic  in  itself.  Mr  Quarrell  embarked  in  the 
schooner  Mercury^  carrying  twelve  guns,  and  the 
crew  of  the  Mercury  consisted  of  four  British  sea- 
men, one  of  whom  was  made  captain,  twelve  Curacoa 
negroes,  and  eighteen  Spanish  renegadoes,  and  they 
appear  to  have  been  as  nice  a parcel  of  blackguards 
as  a man  might  well  gather  together  in  those  times. 
Throughout  the  voyage,  the  English  who  were  on 
board  found  it  necessary  to  keep  possession  of  the 
cabin  and  quarter-deck,  and  to  keep  all  the  arms 
under  their  own  charge.  It  was  a long  story  of 
tribulation,  but  finally  after  infinite  difficulties, 
Quarrell  shipped  forty  chasseurs  and  one  hundred 
and  four  dogs.  They  were  big  dogs,  like  powerful 
greyhounds,  and  I suspect  were  something  like  the 
kangaroo  dogs  that  were  so  common  in  Australia 
when  I was  a child,  greyhounds  crossed  with  some 
other  breed  to  give  them  bulk  and  strength.  The 
chasseur  was  armed  only  with  a machete,  and  the 
dogs  were  not  supposed  to  tear  the  man  they  came 
up  with,  but  if  he  made  no  resistance  to  hold  him 
and  l)ark  for  assistance.  It  Avould  be  no  good 
resisting  man  and  dog,  for  the  steel  of  the  machetes 
was  excellent,  and  they  were  about  eighteen  inches 


THE  MERCURY 


211 


long,  formidable  weapons.  Dallas  says  these  dogs 
and  their  keepers  were  employed  in  Cuba  for  taking 
runaways  and  breaking  up  bodies  of  negroes  collected 
for  hostile  purposes,  which  is  ‘^sometimes  occasioned,’’ 
he  remarks  quaintly,  “by  the  rigour  exercised  on 
the  Spanish  plantations.” 

The  Mercury  was  a luckless  ship.  She  ran 
ashore  on  a sandbank  and  appeared  likely  to  leave 
her  bones  there.  They  had  shipped  cattle  to  feed 
the  dogs,  and  on  that  dark  night  the  dogs  broke 
loose  and  seized  the  cattle,  and  the  bellowing  of  the 
cattle,  the  howling  of  the  dogs,  the  wild  wail  of  the 
wind,  the  roaring  of  the  waves  as  they  washed  over 
the  little  ship,  all  combined  to  make  pandemonium, 
and  Quarrell  must  have  felt  the  Maroons’  luck  was 
holding.  Even  when  they  got  her  off  and  arrived 
at  Montego  Bay  their  ill-luck  pursued  them,  for 
from  the  little  fort  on  the  hillside  that  was  a haven 
of  refuge  to  the  townspeople  there  came  a volley  of 
grape-shot,  the  officer  in  command  having  mistaken 
the  Mercury  for  an  enemy’s  privateer ! Luckily, 
they  don’t  appear  to  have  been  good  marksmen  for 
no  one  was  hurt,  and  the  little  ship  came  to  anchor 
with  some  American  ships  between  her  and  the  guns. 

Amidst  immense  excitement  the  dogs  and  their 
guardians  were  landed.  We  can  imagine  it.  How 
the  news  flew  from  house  to  house,  the  Maroons  were 
to  be  hunted  with  these  immense  dogs  with  which 
the  Spaniards  never  failed  to  bring  down  their 
slaves.  And  the  house  slaves  listened  round-eyed 
and  passed  on  the  news  to  the  field  labourers  and 
the  streets  of  the  town^ — those  shamefully  shadeless 
streets  were  thronged  with  people  half-fearing,  half- 
comforted  with  the  reflection  that  soon  the  hills 
above  the  town  would  no  longer  be  occupied  by 
the  savage  Maroons.  And,  indeed,  one  hundred  and 


212 


THE  MAROONS 


four  great  dogs,  even  though  muzzled  and  held  by 
great  rattling  chains,  ferociously  making  at  every 
strange  object  and  dragging  the  chasseurs  after 
them,  must  have  made  a formidable  array.  Every 
door  in  the  town  was  barred  and  the  people  crowded 
to  the  windows,  out  of  reach  of  the  dogs  who  were 
to  be  their  salvation.  And  they  were  hurried  up  the 
mountains,  paraded  before  the  General  and — never 
used. 

But  it  was  time  they  came.  The  dry  weather 
was  now  come,  the  canes  were  very  inflammable,  it 
was  difficult  to  defend  some  of  the  estates,  especially 
those  in  the  beautiful  and  fertile  Nassau  Valley,  down 
which  wanders  the  Black  River,  and  it  was  reported 
that  a large  body  of  slaves  were  preparing  to  join 
the  victorious  Maroons.  And  then  up  that  moun- 
tain path,  the  very  same  I dare  say  by  which  I 
went  that  December  day,  came  the  chasseurs  with 
the  dogs  tugging  at  their  waists,  and  the  General 
held  a review,  a review  at  which  the  dogs  grew  so 
excited  at  the  discharge  of  the  guns  that  they  flew 
at  the  stocks  of  the  fusils  which  had  been  given  to 
the  chasseurs  and  tore  them  to  pieces.  The  General 
himself  had  to  flee  before  their  onrush  to  his  chaise, 
and  it  was  only  with  difficulty  they  were  restrained 
from  tearing  to  pieces  his  horses.  After  which  we 
are  a little  surprised  to  hear  he  expressed  himself 
exceedingly  pleased  with  the  review.  Perhaps  it 
marks  the  desperateness  of  the  situation. 

And  what  the  white  men  knew  in  the  morning 
before  nightfall  had  been  carried  into  the  mountains 
and  the  Maroons  probably  discussed  this  new  evil 
that  had  befallen  them.  There  could  be  but  one  end 
if  the  white  men  came  against  them  with  dogs — but 
one  end.  And  doubtless  General  Walpole  and  his 
officers  judged  from  the  effect  it  had  on  the  negroes 


COMPROMISE 


213 


the  consternation  that  was  inspired  in  the  mountains, 
and  they  agreed  that  now  the  simplest  thing  would 
be  to  make  peace  as  Colonel  Guthrie  had  done  fifty- 
six  years  before.  In  the  end  the  whites  must  win, 
but  the  blacks  might  set  the  country  in  a blaze  and 
do  many  thousands  of  pounds  worth  of  damage 
before  they  were  all  taken.  Therefore  they  would 
compromise. 

On  the  14th  December  the  dogs  were  landed  at 
Montego  Bay,  and  on  the  18th  Colonel  Hull  fell 
in  with  a party  of  Maroons  under  Johnson,  and 
Johnson  was  their  best  leader.  It  was  difficult  to 
get  into  conversation  with  them,  but  the  troops 
ceased  firing  and  then  the  Maroon  officers,  who  had 
some  inkling  of  the  offer  that  was  to  be  made, 
were  seen  skipping  about  from  rock  to  rock  and 
Mr  Werge  of  the  17th  Light  Dragoons,  who  seems 
to  have  been  a very  capable  young  man,  with  a cool, 
deliberate  courage  flung  down  his  arms  and  stepping 
down  the  hill  till  he  was  close  under  them,  called 
out  that  it  was  peace  and  they  had  better  come 
down  and  shake  hands  upon  it.  Then  Fowler  the 
Maroon  advanced  and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  at 
Mr  Werge’s  suggestion — he  was  as  brave  a young 
man  as  Dr  Russell — they  exchanged  hats  and  jackets. 

Relations  once  established.  General  Walpole  came 
up  and  the  Maroons  agreed  that,  on  their  knees  they 
would  beg  His  Majesty’s  pardon,  that  they  would  go 
to  the  Old  Town  or  Montego  Bay  or  anywhere  else 
the  Governor  might  appoint,  and  would  settle  on 
whatever  lands  might  be  given  them.  They  would 
give  up  all  runaways.  And  General  Walpole  agreed 
to  a secret  clause  that  they  should  not  be  sent  off  the 
island. 

And,  indeed,  the  Maroons  were  in  a bad  way. 
They  were  short  of  provisions  and  measles  had 

p 


214 


THE  MAROONS 


broken  out  among  them,  and  their  women  and 
children  were  almost  famished. 

The  1st  of  January  1796  was  fixed  for  the  day 
they  should  come  in.  But  they  were  very  dis- 
trustful. It  was  difficult  to  make  them  understand 
that  no  harm  would  be  done  them.  Some  few 
turned  up,  but  practically  the  New  Year’s  Day 
passed  unnoticed.  They  straggled  in  by  slow 
degrees,  finding  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  persuade 
themselves  to  abandon  their  mountain  fastnesses  for 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  white  man,  but  as  a matter 
of  fact  all  with  the  exception  of  the  small  parties  out 
with  Palmer  and  Parkinson  came  in  within  a fort- 
night of  the  day  appointed,  and  the  last  were  only 
out  three  months. 

But  the  Assembly  because  of  this  laxness,  felt 
they  might  break  their  pledged  word,  and  they 
banished  the  majority  of  the  Maroons  with  incredible 
foolishness,  considering  that  the  negro  line  is  supposed 
to  be  drawn  at  the  40th  parallel  of  latitude,  to  Nova 
Scotia.  Perhaps  they  hoped  to  destroy  them,  root 
and  branch.  There,  as  was  only  to  be  expected, 
they  did  not  do  well,  and  finally  they  were  taken 
to  Sierra  Leone,  where  I read  thev  made  valuable 
settlers  and  helped  the  colony  greatly.  I was  glad 
they  did.  And  then  I remembered  that  in  Free 
Town  I had  met  the  most  bumptious,  the  most 
aggressive,  the  most  unpleasant  black  men  it  has 
ever,  except  in  Liberia,  been  my  lot  to  come  across, 
and  I felt  my  sympathies  weaken. 

Jamaica  was  not  unmindful  of  these  her  children 
whom  she  hated.  For  a small  island  she  spent  an 
enormous  sum  of  money  on  their  welfare.  £46,000 
was  expended  in  trying  to  colonise  them  comfortably, 
and  this  was  supplemented  by  the  British  Government. 

General  Walpole  was  bitterly  angry.  He  had 


BANISHED 


215 


given  his  word,  and  the  country  had  broken  it,  and 
in  his  turn  he  declined  to  accept  the  sword  of  honour 
which  the  Assembly  voted  him  in  honour  of  his 
bloodless  victory,  and  declined  it  in  such  terms  that 
the  Assembly  considered  the  letter  a misrepresenta- 
tion of  their  proceedings  and  ordered  it  to  be 
expunged  from  their  minutes. 

Not  all  of  the  Maroons  were  banished.  Those 
who  came  in  by  the  1st  of  January  1796  were 
allowed  to  stay  if  they  so  pleased,  and  they  settled 
about  their  old  town  and  about  Accompong,  but 
their  teeth  were  drawn.  They  were  no  greater 
danger  now  than  any  of  the  other  black  people. 
Less,  in  fact,  for  they  had  a certain  contempt  for 
the  slaves,  and  regarded  themselves  as  on  a par 
with  the  white  men. 

The  people  about  Maroon  Town  now  do  not 
think  of  themselves  as  Maroons.  The  day  I went 
up,  when  we  had  gone  as  far  as  we  could  within 
a mile  and  a half  of  the  old  Maroon  Town,  the 
people  came  crowding  round,  and  they  looked  much 
like  the  dark  folks  who  lived  lower  down  in  the 
mountains.  One  yellow  man  brought  me  a can  full 
of  green  coffee  berries. 

‘'No,  not  for  sale,  for  the  lady  to  remember 
we’s  by.”  I accepted  the  gift,  so  graciously  given, 
and  I asked  the  giver's  name. 

“Keed,”  said  he,  and  I said  I'd  put  him  in  a 
book,  but  I don't  believe  he  understood  what  I said. 
I felt  in  my  pocket.  I know  of  old  the  African  likes 
a return  present,  but  I had  forgotten  my  purse,  and 
my  host  settled  the  difficulty. 

“ Take  him  round  to  the  Chinaman's  shop,''  he  said 
to  his  driver,  “ and  give  him  a drink,''  and  my  yellow 
friend,  whom  I thought  must  be  grandson  to  one  of 
those  long-dead  soldiers,  accepted  the  offer  with  a smile. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 

It  is  very  difficult  to  understand  the  attitude  towards 
trivial  offences  of  people  who  lived  in  a time  when 
the  death  penalty  was  legally  inflicted  for  breaking 
down  the  banks  of  a fish  pond,  stealing  anything 
over  the  value  of  a shilling  from  the  person,  or 
illegally  felling  trees. 

With  the  last  clause  I have  some  sympathy. 
I sometimes  feel  I could  cheerfully  see  the  death 
penalty  inflicted  upon  whoever  was  responsible  for 
making  Jamaican  towns  bare  of  trees,  for  decreeing 
that  telephone  and  telegraph  wires  are  of  more 
importance  than  shade,  and  for  clearing  all  the 
country  roads  so  that  a tropical  sun  makes  them 
a purgatory  for  the  unfortunate  traveller,  when  Nature 
herself  has  arranged  so  much  more  wisely. 

But  that  is  somehow  in  another  dimension,  and 
I quite  realise  when  white  people  were  so  hard 
on  each  other  as  they  were  a hundred  years  ago,  we 
could  not  expect  much  consideration  from  them  for 
the  men  they  held  in  bondage. 

The  first  negroes  were  brought  to  serve  and  for 
nothing  else.  There  was  some  faint  talk  of  making 
them  Christians  and  saving  their  souls,  but  I am 
afraid  it  was  of  their  untilled  cane-pieces  the  planters 
were  thinking  when  they  crowded  down  to  the 
reeking  slave  ships.  They  who  believed,  if  they 
216 


MATTHEW  LEWIS  A MAN  OF  TO-DAY  217 


gave  the  matter  a thought,  that  any  being  who  died 
unbaptized  went  out  into  outer  darkness  for  eternity- 
only  neither  they  nor  we  can  grasp  eternity — gave 
no  welcome  to  the  men  who  presently  came  to  teach 
their  slaves.  They  objected.  Well,  even  in  this 
year  of  our  Lord  1922,  I have  actually,  yes  actually 
heard  a woman,  who  certainly  should  have  known 
better,  declare:  ‘‘You  know,  my  dear,  this  teaching 
of  the  lower  classes  is  really  a great  mistake.  It 
lifts  them  out  of  their  own  class.” 

In  all  the  mass  of  literature  I have  waded  through 
about  Jamaica  I have  met  no  one  till  I arrived  at 
Matthew  Lewis,  writing  of  1816,  who  looked  at  the 
negro  with  what  we  may  call  modern  eyes.  The 
Abolitionists  patronised ; they  had  an  object  in  view, 
a great  object,  truly,  but  it  was  the  cause  for  which 
they  fought.  Lewis  was  much  more  reasonable  and 
sensible.  We  can  read  him  as  we  might  read  a 
man  of  to-day,  on  the  conditions  around  him.  He 
saw  Jamaica  as  I and  people  like  me  see  it,  and 
weighed  both  sides  and  held  the  balance  true,  for 
he  is  far  less  hampered  by  tradition  than  we  might 
expect. 

He  landed  at  Savanna-la-Mar,  which  lies  right 
upon  the  sea-shore,  a sea-shore  on  which  there  is 
no  cliff,  and  where  the  boundaries  of  land  and  water 
are  by  no  means  clearly  defined.  A wild  tropical 
storm  swept  over  it  while  I was  there,  and  I thought 
of  Matthew  Lewis  as  the  rain  came  slanting  down 
the  wide  street,  turning  the  scene  into  one  dreary 
grey  whole ; sky,  sea,  land,  we  could  hardly  have 
told  one  from  the  other  but  for  the  houses  that 
loomed  up,  grey  blotches  on  the  universal  greyness. 
There  were  no  trees,  barely  a sign  of  the  riotous 
tropical  vegetation,  though  presently  the  sun  would 
be  out  in  all  his  pride,  and  the  whole  town  would 


218 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


be  craving  for  a little  shade.  But  like  many  English 
colonists,  the  people  of  Savanna-la-Mar  have  decided 
that  beauty,  the  beauty  of  trees  and  growing  things, 
is  not  necessary  in  their  town.  If  you  want  shade, 
what  about  corrugated  iron  ? 

I don't  know  what  Savanna-la-Mar  was  like 
when  Matthew  Lewis  landed  there,  but  it  was 
celebrating  its  holidays,  the  New  Year  of  1816,  when 
the  great  gentleman  arrived. 

‘'Soon  after  nine  o’clock  we  reached  Savanna- 
la-Mar,  where  I found  my  trustee  and  a whole 
cavalcade  awaiting  to  conduct  me  to  my  estate.  He 
had  brought  with  him  a curricle  and  a pair  for 
myself,  a gig  for  my  servant,  two  black  boys  upon 
mules,  and  a cart  with  eight  oxen  to  convey  my 
baggage.” 

It  took  a good  deal  to  move  a gentleman  with 
dignity  a hundred  years  ago.  Nowadays  it  would 
have  been:  “We’ll  send  the  car  for  you,  and  your 
heavier  baggage  can  come  on  by  mule  cart.  You 
won’t  want  it  for  a day  or  two,  will  you  ? ” 

And  here  he  gives  us  the  sort  of  picture  to 
which  we  have  become  accustomed  in  reading  about 
the  good  old  times  of  slavery. 

“Whether  the  pleasure  of  the  negroes  was  sincere 
may  be  doubted” — a wise  man  and  a human  was 
Matthew  Lewis.  He  really  does  not  see  any  reason 
why  the  slaves  should  be  fond  of  him  or  make  a 
fuss  over  him,  “ but  certainly  it  ” — the  welcome — “ was 
the  loudest  that  ever  I witnessed ; they  all  talked 
together,  sang,  danced,  shouted,  and  in  the  violence 
of  their  gesticulations  tumbled  over  each  other  and 
rolled  on  the  ground.  Twenty  voices  at  once  en- 
quired after  uncles  and  aunts  and  grandfathers  and 
great-grandmothers  of  mine  who  had  been  buried 
long  before  I was  in  existence,  and  whom  I verily 


“ME— YOUR  SLAVE” 


219 


believe  most  of  them  only  knew  by  tradition.  One 
woman  held  up  her  little  black  child  to  me,  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear. 

‘‘  Look,  massa,  look  here ! Him  nice  lilly  neger 
for  massa.”  Another  complained — 

“ So  long  since  none  come  see  we,  massa.  Good 
massa,  come  at  last.” 

He  rather  liked  it  though. 

“All  this  may  be  palaver,  but  certainly  they  at 
least  play  their  parts  with  such  an  air  of  truth  and 
warmth  and  enthusiasm,  that  after  the  cold-hearted 
and  repulsive  manners  of  England  this  contrast  is 
infinitely  agreeable.” 

He  went  to  a lodging-house  first,  and  there  he  was 
met  by  a remarkably  clean-looking  negro  lad  with 
water  and  a towel.  Lewis  took  it  for  granted  that 
he  belonged  to  the  house.  The  lad  waited  some 
time  and  at  last  he  said  : 

“Massa  not  know  me ; me  your  slave.” 

And  here  for  the  first  time  we  find  someone  who 
feels  uncomfortable  at  holding  another  in  bondage. 

“The  sound  made  me  feel  a pang  at  the  heart,” 
he  writes.  And  not  because  the  boy  was  sad. 
Stirring  within  the  poet  was  some  feeling  concerning 
the  rights  of  man. 

“The  lad  appeared  all  gaiety  and  good  humour, 
and  his  whole  countenance  expressed  anxiety  to 
recommend  himself  to  my  notice ; but  the  word 
'slave’  seemed  to  imply  that  although  he  did  feel 
pleasure  then  in  serving  me,  if  he  had  detested  me 
he  must  have  served  me  still.  I really  felt  quite 
humiliated  at  the  moment,  and  was  tempted  to  tell 
him. 

“Do  not  say  that  again ; say  that  you  are  my 
negro,  but  do  not  call  yourself  my  slave.” 

And  then  again,  when  he  was  established  in  the 


220  THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 

house,  which  he  has  left  it  on  record  was  frightful 
to  look  at  but  very  clean  and  comfortable  inside,  he 
remarks : 

“This  morning  a little  brown  girl  made  her 
appearance  with  an  oranee  bough  to  flap  a wav  the 
flies.” 

It  had  been  impressed  upon  him  that  he  courted 
death  if  he  drank  orangeade,  if  he  walked  in  the 
morning  after  ten  or  went  out  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  “ be  exposed  to  the  dews  after  sundown  ” 
they  put  it  But  he  dares  to  write : “ The  air  too 

was  delicious,  the  fragrance  of  the  sweetwood  and 
other  scented  ti'ees,  but  above  aU  of  the  delicious 
logwood  of  which  most  of  the  fences  in  Westmore- 
land are  made,  composed  an  atmosphere  such  that 
if  Satan  after  promising  them  a buxom  air  embalmeil 
with  odours,  had  transported  Sin  and  Death  thither 
the  charming  people  must  acknowledge  their  papa’s 
promise  fulfilled.”  It  reads  quaintly  now.  Sin — 
sin  is  so  much  a matter  of  the  standard  we  set  up. 
If  the  slave  had  copied  the  planter,  no  master 
would  have  considered  him  anvthing  but  a very 
sinful  slave ; and  death — death  is  often  very,  yery 
kindly. 

Lewis  enquires  into  the  condition  of  the  people. 
His  attorney  had  written  to  him  regularly  of  the 
care  he  expended  on  the  negroes,  but  he  had  been 
away  much  of  his  time  managing  other  estates,  and 
had  delegated  his  authority  to  an  overseer  who 
treated  the  people  so  harshly  that  at  last  they  left 
the  estate  in  a body  and  threw  themselves  on  the 
protection  of  the  magistrate  at  Savanna-la -Mar, 
“and  if  I had  not  come  myself  to  Jamaica,  in  all 
probability  I should  never  have  had  the  most 
distant  idea  how  abominably  the  poor  creatures  had 
been  ill-used.” 


A DISTINCT  ADVANCE  221 

Now  this  marks  a distinct  advance  since  the  times 
when  the  savages,  speaking  a jargon  no  one  cared  to 
understand,  were  driven  to  work  with  a whip. 

Lewis,  to  the  intense  surprise  of  his  compeers, 
objected  to  the  use  of  the  whip. 

‘'I  am,  indeed,  assured  by  everyone  about  me, 
that  to  manage  a West  Indian  estate  without  the 
occasional  use  of  a cart  whip,  however  rarely,  is 
impossible ; and  they  insist  upon  it  that  it  is  absurd 
in  me  to  call  my  slaves  ill-treated,  because  when 
they  act  grossly  wrong  they  are  treated  like  English 
soldiers  and  sailors.  All  this  may  be  very  true ; but 
there  is  something  to  me  so  shocking  in  the  idea  of 
this  execrable  cart  whip  that  I have  positively  for- 
bidden the  use  of  it  on  Cornwall ; and  if  the  estate 
must  go  to  rack  and  ruin  without  it,  to  rack  and 
ruin  the  estate  must  go.” 

But,  of  course,  all  men  were  not  as  broad- 
minded as  Lewis.  Bridges,  who  wrote  twelve  years 
later,  could  never  mention  a negro  without  adding 
some  disparaging  adjective,'  ‘Hhe  vigilance  which 
African  perfidy  requires.”  Experience  proves  that 
a strange  uniformity  of  barbarism  pervades  them  all ; 
and  that  the  only  difference  lies  in  the  degrees  of 
the  same  base  qualities  which  mark  the  negro  race 
throughout.”  The  salutary  measures  were  of  little 
avail  in  winning  over  by  indulgence,  or  restraining 
by  terror  the  impracticable  savages  of  Africa.”  Such 
are  a few  of  the  gems  dispersed  through  his  work. 
He  could  see  no  good  in  a black  man,  except  that 
his  thews  and  sinews  were  necessary  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  country,  and  he  grudged  them  even  that 
measure  of  praise. 

In  the  ten  years  between  1752  and  1762,  71,115 
negroes  arrived  in  the  island,  “ forced  upon  Jamaica 
by  British  merchants  and  English  laws,”  says  he. 


222 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


though  when  England  wanted  to  stop  this  inflow 
and  to  prohibit  the  slave  trade,  the  Jamaican  planters 
objected  very  strongly.  They  wanted  these  unwilling 
colonists.  But  since  the  majority  of  them  were  men, 
young,  strong  and  lusty,  and  the  Europeans  were  but 
a handful,  it  was  necessary  they  should  be  ruled  with 
a rod  of  iron.  Bridges  probably  was  right  when  he 
says  that  any  relaxation  was  promptly  attributed  to 
fear.  They  had  to  be  governed  by  fear  and  the 
people  who  are  governed  by  fear,  are  crushed, 
broken,  destroyed.  How  thoroughly  destroyed  we 
may  see  by  reading  statistics  of  the  increase  among 
the  slaves,  once  the  importation  from  Africa  had 
ceased. 

This  whip  that  Lewis  abolished  was  used  on  all 
occasions.  A man  was  beaten  because  he  did  not 
work,  and  women  were  beaten  till  the  blood  flowed, 
because  they  suckled  their  babies  during  working 
hours,  which  extended,  be  it  remembered,  from  five 
in  the  morning  till  seven  at  night — by  law — with  an 
interval  of  half  an  hour  for  breakfast  and  two  hours 
for  the  mid-day  meal.  The  women  would  protest 
that  the  little  things  were  hungry  and  cried,  but  if 
the  overseer  or  book-keeper  were  not  kind  that  was 
no  excuse.  Presently  there  came  a law  that  no  slave 
was  to  receive  more  than  thirty-nine  lashes  at  once. 
It  was  time.  They  are  said  on  occasion  to  have 
received  more  than  500.  But  there  were  ways  of 
getting  over  the  new  law.  There  were  men  who 
kept  within  the  letter  and  yet  inflicted  fiendish 
punishment.  There  is  a story  told  of  Barbadoes  : 

Two  ofiicers.  Major  Fitch  and  Captain  Cook, 
hearing  terrible  cries,  broke  open  a door  and  there 
found  a negro  girl  chained  to  the  floor  being  flogged 
by  her  master.  The  brute  got  out  of  their  avenging 
hands — I am  glad  to  think  there  was  some  pity  in 


THE  STATUS  OF  A SLAVE 


223 


that  world — but  he  cried  exultingly  that  he  had 
only  given  her  the  thirty -nine  lashes  allowed  by  the 
law  at  one  time,  and  that  he  had  only  inflicted  this 
number  three  times  since  the  beginning  of  the  night, 
and  that  he  intended  to  give  her  the  fourth  thirty- 
nine  before  morning.  This  was  long  before  Lewis’s 
time.  It  was  told  by  Wilberforce,  when  pleading  for 
the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade. 

There  were  tales  enough,  of  course,  of  this 
description  and  the  case  against  the  planters — some 
of  them — was  pretty  bad.  A youth  of  nineteen  was 
found  wandering  about  the  streets  of  Bridgetown, 
Barbadoes,  by  General  Tottenham  in  the  year  1780. 
“He  was  entirely  naked,  with  an  iron  collar  about 
his  neck  having  five  long  projecting  spikes.  His 
body  both  before  and  behind  was  covered  with 
wounds.  His  belly  and  thighs  were  almost  cut 
to  pieces  with  running  ulcers  all  over  them ; and 
a finger  might  have  been  laid  in  some  of  the  weals. 
He  could  not  sit  down,  because  his  hinder  part  was 
mortified  and  he  could  not  lie  down  on  account  of 
the  prongs  of  his  collar.  He  supplicated  the  General 
for  relief,  for  his  master  had  said  as  he  could  not 
work  neither  should  he  eat.” 

And  the  people  of  Bridgetown  did  not  rise  up 
and  slay  that  inhuman  monster ! It  took  a long 
while  for  the  West  Indian  planter  to  understand 
that  a slave  had  any  rights. 

Clarkson  tells  a tale  of  a master  who  wantonly 
cut  the  mouth  of  a child  of  six  months  old  almost 
from  ear  to  ear.  Times  were  changing,  and  he 
was  brought  to  task  for  it.  But  the  idea  of  calling 
masters  to  account  was  entirely  novel. 

“Guilty,”  said  the  jury,  “subject  to  the  opinion 
of  the  Court  if  immoderate  correction  of  a slave  by 
his  master  be  a crime  indictable.” 


224 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


The  Court  decided  it  was  indictable  and  fined 
him  £1,  5s.  ! 

And  yet  that  judgment  is  a great  advance  upon 
the  times  when  the  negro,  as  Mr  Francis  said  in 
Parliament,  was  without  Government  protection  and 
subject  to  the  mere  caprice  of  men  who  were  at  once 
the  parties,  the  judges,  and  the  executioners.  He 
instanced  an  overseer  who,  having  thrown  a negro 
into  a copper  of  boiling  cane -juice  for  a trifling 
offence,  was  punished  merely  by  the  loss  of  his 
place,  and  by  being  obliged  to  pay  the  value  of  the 
slave  thus  done  to  death.  He  told  of  another 
instance,  a girl  of  fourteen  who  was  dreadfully 
whipped  for  coming  late  to  her  work.  She  fell  down 
motionless,  and  was  then  dragged  along  the  ground 
by  the  legs  to  the  hospital,  where  she  died.  The 
murderer,  though  tried,  was  acquitted  by  a jury  of 
his  peers,  because  it  was  impossible  that  a master 
could  destroy  his  own  property ! 

Here  is  a story  told  by  Mr  Pitt  at  the  same  time. 
A passer-by  heard  the  piercing  shrieks  of  a woman 
coming  from  an  outhouse  and  determined  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  On  looking  in  he  saw  a girl 
tied  up  to  a beam  by  her  wrists,  she  was  entirely 
naked,  and  was  swinging  backwards  and  forwards 
while  her  owner  was  standing  below  her  with  a 
lighted  torch  in  his  hand,  which  he  applied  to  all 
parts  of  her  body  ! 

On  the  other  hand,  Mr  Edwards  told  a story 
to  the  Assembly  of  Jamaica,  of  how  some  risen 
slaves  surrounded  the  house  of  their  mistress,  who 
was  in  bed  with  her  newborn  child  beside  her. 
Imagine  the  poor  woman  shrinking  down  amidst 
the  pillows,  and  round  the  bed  these  black  savages 
with  wild  bloodshot  eyes  and  cruel,  grasping  hands. 
The  very  smell  of  their  naked  bodies,  their  rags 


DUMB  BEASTS  OF  BURDEN 


225 


stained  with  blood  and  rum,  would  strike  terror  to 
her  heart.  They  deliberated  in  their  jargon  how 
they  could  best  put  her  to  death  in  torment.  But 
in  the  end  one  of  them  decided  to  keep  her  for 
his  mistress.  The  vile  broken  patois  they  spoke 
made  so  much  intelligible  to  her,  and  then  snatching 
the  child  from  her  protecting  arms  they  killed  it 
with  an  axe  before  the  poor  mother’s  eyes. 

We  can  sympathise  with  the  man  who  felt  that 
no  torments  were  too  great  for  savages  such  as  these, 
and  with  others  who  were  certain  that  a repetition 
of  such  atrocities  must  be  guarded  against  at  any 
cost. 

And  so  by  a law  passed  in  the  West  Indies  in 
1722,  ‘‘any  Negro  or  other  slave  withdrawing  himself 
from  his  master  for  the  term  of  six  months,  or  any 
slave  who  was  absent  and  did  not  return  within 
that  time  every  such  person  should  suffer  death.” 

And  coming  back,  of  course,  he  might  suffer  a 
good  deal.  So  that  the  unfortunate  slave  was  ever 
between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  But  slowly 
as  we  read  the  records,  we  can  see  the  status  of  first 
the  coloured  man,  and  then  the  black  man  improving. 
In  the  beginning  these  Africans  who  up  till  the 
Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade  could  speak  but  little 
English,  and  always  spoke  to  each  other  in  their 
own  tongues,  were  simply  dumb  beasts  of  burden, 
necessary  for  the  improvement  of  the  colony,  even  as 
a certain  number  of  horses  and  cattle  and  other 
stock  were  necessary.  Always  they  were  treated  as 
inferior  beings,  even  when  they  were  desperately 
feared.  Gossipy  Lady  Nugent  talks  of  them  as 
one  would  an  intelligent,  rather  lovable  dog  or 
horse,  and  spares  a little  pity  for  their  hard  lot. 

“The  mill  is  turned  by  water,”  she  writes  about 
a visit  to  a sugar  estate,  “and  the  cane  being  put 


226  THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 

in  on  one  side,  comes  out  in  a moment  on  the  other, 
quite  like  dry  pith,  so  rapidly  is  all  the  juice 
expressed,  passing  between  two  cylinders  turning 
round  the  contrary  ways.  You  then  see  the  juice 
running  through  a great  gutter,  which  conveys 
it  to  the  boiling  house.  There  are  always  four 
negroes  stuffing  in  the  canes,  while  others  are 
employed  continually  in  bringing  in  great  bundles 
of  them.  ...  At  each  cauldron  in  the  boiling 
house  was  a man  with  a large  skimmer  upon  a long 
pole,  constantly  stirring  the  sugar  and  throwing  it 
from  one  cauldron  to  another.  The  man  at  the  last 
cauldron  called  out  continually  to  those  below 
attending  the  fire  to  throw  on  more  trash,  etc.,  for 
if  the  heat  relaxes  in  the  least,  all  the  sugar  in  the 
cauldron  is  spoiled.  ...  I asked  the  overseer  how 
often  his  people  were  relieved.  He  said  every  twelve 
hours ; but  how  dreadful  to  think  of  their  standing 
twelve  hours  over  a boiling  cauldron,  and  doing  the 
same  thing.”  (A  woman  before  her  time  was  Lady 
Nugent.)  ‘‘  And  he  owned  to  me  that  sometimes  they 
did  fall  asleep  and  get  their  poor  fingers  into  the 
mill ; and  he  showed  me  a hatchet  that  was  always 
ready  to  sever  the  whole  limb,  as  the  only  means 
of  saving  the  poor  sufferer’s  life.  I would  not  have 
a sugar  estate  for  the  whole  world  ! ” 

This  perhaps  explains  why  in  the  slave  books 
the  slaves  seem  to  be  so  often  lame  in  a hand,  or 
with  only  one  hand.  And  yet  there  was  no 

possibility  of  refusing  the  work.  They  must  do  it. 

Lady  Nugent  pitied,  Matthew  Lewis  tried  to 
remedy,  the  evils.  He  was  particularly  kindly,  and 
was  hated  by  the  planters  as  making  dangerous 
innovations  in  the  management  of  an  estate,  and 
allowing  much  more  latitude  than  others  were  inclined 
to  think  wise.  They  probably  said  he  had  not  to 


“BAD  MANNERS 


227 


live  in  the  island  ; he  would  go  back  to  England  and 
allow  them  to  reap  what  he  had  sown.  But  he 
certainly  reaped  for  a time  himself;  his  overseers 
could  get  no  work  done,  and  on  one  occasion 
after  his  arrival  the  women  refused  to  carry  away 
the  trash,  '‘one  of  the  easiest  tasks  that  could  be 
set.  In  consequence  the  mill  was  obliged  to  be 
stopped ; and  when  the  driver  on  that  station  insisted 
on  their  doing  their  duty,  a little  fierce  young  devil 
of  a lass,  Whaunica,  flew  at  his  throat  and 
endeavoured  to  strangle  him.” 

And  again  we  find  him  writing  : " Another  morn- 
ing with  the  mill  stopped,  no  liquor  in  the  boiling 
house,  and  no  work  done.”  The  whole  estate  was 
suffering  from  a bad  attack  of  what  the  negroes 
call  “bad  manners,”  that  is  ingratitude,  for  if  ever 
a man  tried  to  help  them,  Lewis  did. 

“My  agent  declares,”  he  goes  on,  “that  they 
never  conducted  so  ill  before ; that  they  worked 
cheerfully  and  properly  till  my  arrival,  but  now  they 
think  that  I shall  protect  them  against  all  punishment, 
and  have  made  regularly  ten  hogsheads  of  sugar 
less  than  they  did  before  my  coming  upon  the 
estate.” 

He  appears  to  have  been  a man  of  means,  and  in 
that  he  was  an  exception.  I am  sure  that  nearly 
all  the  planters  felt  they  needed  every  penny  their 
estates  would  produce,  many  were  already  deeply 
dipped,  and  few  and  far  between  were  those  who 
could  afford  to  try  experiments  in  the  cause  of  right. 
But  Lewis  persevered,  and  I am  glad  to  think  that 
in  the  end  he  was  no  loser,  his  negroes  worked,  and 
his  estates  did  pay. 

He  actually  on  one  occasion  dismissed  a book- 
keeper for  having  ill-treated  a negro,  and  took  the 
evidence  of  four  negroes  against  the  denial  of  the 


228  THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 

accused — and  this  in  a time  when  a negro's  e^ddence 
was  inadmissible ! 

“ I immediately  discharged  the  book-keeper,  who 
contented  himself  with  simply  denying  the  blow 
having  been  given  by  him ; but  I told  him  that  I 
could  not  possibly  allow  his  single  unsupported 
denial  to  outweigh  concordant  witnesses  to  the 
assertation : and  if  he  grounded  his  claim  to  being 
believed  merely  upon  his  having  a white  skin,  on 
Cornwall  estate  at  least  that  claim  would  not  be 
admitted ; and  that  as  the  fact  was  clearlv  established 
nothing  should  induce  me  to  retain  him  upon  my 
property  except  his  finding  some  means  of  appeasing 
the  injured  negro,  and  prevailing  on  him  to  intercede 
on  his  behalf." 

How  dared  he  ! In  Jamaica  ! 

“This  was  a humiliation  to  which  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  stoop  ; and  accordingly  the  man  has 
left  the  estate.  I was  kept  awake  the  greater  part 
of  the  night  by  the  songs  and  rejoicings  of  the 
negroes  at  their  triumph  over  the  ofiPending  book- 
keeper." And  this  man  had  only  sluiced  a slave 
with  dirty  water,  called  him  a rascal,  and  knocked 
him  down  with  a broom  because  he  did  not  clear 
away  some  spilled  water  fast  enough ! No  wonder 
the  planters  felt  this  newcomer  was  attempting 
dangerous  innovations. 

“It  is  extraordinary,"  writes  Lady  Nugent,  more 
than  ten  years  earlier,  “to  witness  the  immediate 
effect  that  the  climate"  (always  the  climate)  “and 
habit  of  living  in  this  country  have  upon  the  minds 
and  manners  of  Europeans,  particularly  the  lower 
orders.  In  the  upper  ranks  they  become  indolent 
and  inactive,  regardless  of  everything  but  eating  and 
drinking  and  indulging  themselves,  are  almost  entirely 
under  the  dominion  of  their  mulatto  favomites.  In 


“SOME  BLESSINGS  OF  CIVILISED  SOCIETY”  229 


the  lower  orders  they  are  the  same,  with  the  addition 
of  conceit  and  tyranny,  considering  the  negroes  as 
creatures  formed  entirely  to  administer  to  their  ease, 
and  to  be  subject  to  their  caprice,  and  I have  found 
much  difficulty  to  persuade  those  great  people  and 
superior  beings,  our  white  domestics,  that  the  blacks 
are  human  beings  or  have  souls.  I allude  more 
particularly  to  our  German  and  our  other  upper 
men  servants.” 

I am  afraid  there  were  a good  many  people  like 
Lady  Nugent’s  German  and  other  upper  men  servants. 

But  Lewis  himself  had  very  clear  ideas  as  to  the 
sort  of  people  he  was  trying  to  help.  He  knew  you 
could  not  expect  either  saints  or  wise  men  from  men 
brought  up  as  they  had  been,  though  the  life  might 
occasionally  evolve  a philosopher. 

“To  do  the  negroes  justice,”  he  writes,  “it  is  a 
doubt  whether  they  are  the  greatest  thieves  or  liars, 
and  the  quantity  of  sugar  which  they  purloin  during 
the  crop  and  dispose  of  at  the  Bay  is  enormous.” 

And  he  tells  another  lovely  story  of  how  he  was 
taken  in  and  his  kindness  imposed  upon.  There 
was  a black  watchman,  old  and  sick,  to  whom  he 
regularly  sent  soup,  and  then  he  discovered  that  the 
old  scamp  had  hired  a girl,  and  had  a child  by  her, 
and  for  this  accommodation  he  paid  £30  a year  to 
a brown  man  in  the  mountains  ! 

“ I hope  this  fact  will  convince  the  African 
reporter,”  he  writes,  “that  it  is  possible  for  some 
‘of  these  oppressed  race  of  human  beings,’  ‘of  these 
our  most  unfortunate  fellow  - creatures,’  to  enjoy 
at  least  some  of  the  blessings  of  civilised  society. 
And  I doubt  whether  even  Mr  Wilberforce  himself, 
with  all  his  benevolence,  would  not  allow  a negro  to 
be  quite  rich  enough,  who  can  afford  to  pay  £30 
a year  for  the  hire  of  a kept  mistress.” 


Q 


230 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


A nice  humour  of  his  own  has  Lewis.  He  comes 
down  to  us  pleasantly  through  the  years.  He  gives  j| 
us  many  little  illuminating  stories  about  the  slaves  j' 
and  their  ways.  Already  there  were  growing  up  . 
among  them  many  little  differences.  For  instance,  | 
a pure  bred  negro  might  not  aspire  to  the  hand  of 
a lady  with  some  of  the  blood  of  the  ruling  class 
in  her  veins.  One  day  he  asked  Gubina,  his  body- 
servant,  the  nice  boy  whom  he  had  first  met  on  his 
arrival,  why  he  did  not  marry  Mary  Wiggins,  a most 
beautiful  brown  girl,  and  they  can  be  beautiful. 

“Oh,  massa,”  said  Gubina,  shocked,  “him 
sambo  ! ” — that  is,  the  child  of  a mulatto  and  a negro. 

But  this  did  not  always  hold  good. 

He  tells  another  story  of  a slave  of  his  named 
Nicholas,  a mulatto.  Nicholas  was  the  son  of  a 
white  man,  who  on  his  deathbed  charged  his  nephew 
and  heir  to  purchase  the  freedom  of  this  natural 
child.  The  nephew  promised,  and  Matthew  Lewis 
the  master  had  agreed.  Nothing  was  wanting 
except  to  find  a substitute.  But  a substitute,  once 
the  slave  trade  had  stopped,  was  very  difficult  to  find. 
Before  he  was  found,  the  nephew  had  broken  his  I 
neck,  and  his  estate  had  gone  to  a distant  heir. 

Poor  Nicholas's  freedom  was  once  more  put  off. 
Lewis  says  he  liked  the  man  so  much  he  was 
strongly  tempted  to  set  him  at  liberty  at  once. 

“ But,"  he  adds  very  naturally,  “ if  I began  that 
way  there  would  be  no  stopping." 

“ Another,"  says  Lewis,  “ was  building  a house 
for  a superannuated  wife — for  they  have  so  much 
decency  to  call  their  tender  attachments  by  a con- 
jugal name."  Which  is  merely  to  say  that  even 
the  mulattoes  continued  African  customs  here  in 
Jamaica. 

There  was  a law  against  slaves  holding  stock  of 


A JAMAICAN  SLAVE— AN  ENGLISH  LABOURER  231 

any  sort,  and  of  course  at  first  they  did  not,  but 
gradually  men  who  had  to  go  out  into  the  wilder 
parts  of  the  mountains  to  grow  their  provisions, 
acquired  live  stock  as  well,  and  they  held  it  not  only 
on  Lewis’s  estate,  but  on  other  men’s.  Lewis  bought 
all  the  cattle  which  the  industrious  ones  bred,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent,  at  an  all-round  price  of  £15  a 
head,  and  he  never  charged  them  for  pasturage. 
Truly  patriarchal  in  his  rule  was  he.  He  believed 
that  the  slaves,  taken  all  in  all,  had  a fairly  good 
time,  and  he  was  a man  of  letters,  a man  who  had 
travelled,  and  whose  opinion  is  worth  considering. 

‘‘As  far  as  I can  judge,”  he  writes  in  the  inflated 
style  of  the  time  of  George  III.  of  blessed  memory, 
“if  I were  now  standing  on  the  banks  of  Lethe 
with  a goblet  of  the  waters  of  oblivion  in  my  hand 
and  were  asked  whether  I chose  to  enter  life  as  an 
English  labourer  or  a Jamaican  negro,  I should 
have  no  hesitation  in  preferring  the  latter.”  Doubt- 
less he  w^as  quite  right.  His  saying  it  only  proves 
to  me  what  a ghastly  time  the  English  labourer 
must  have  had  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century. 

There  is  another  aspect  of  slavery  that  we  don’t 
often  realise,  but  he  brings  it  before  us  clearly.  At 
the  present  day  if  we  wish  to  get  rid  of  a bad 
servant,  or  even  one  we  dislike,  all  we  have  to  do 
is  to  pay  him  and  dismiss  him,  and  we  are  quit 
of  him  and  his  evil  ways ; but  it  wasn’t  so  easy 
to  get  rid  of  a slave.  He  had  a man  named  Adam, 
a Creole,  who  had  a bad  reputation  as  an  Obeah  man. 

“ There  is  no  doubt  of  his  having  infused  poison 
into  the  water-jars  through  spite  against  the  late 
superintendent.  He  is  unfortunately  clever  and 
plausible,  and  I am  told  that  the  mischief  that  he 
has  ah'eady  done  by  working  upon  the  folly  and 
superstition  of  his  fellows  is  incalculable.  Yet  I 


232  THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 

cannot  get  rid  of  him.  The  law  will  not  suffer 
any  negro  to  be  shipped  off  the  island  until  he  shall 
have  been  convicted  of  felony  at  the  session.  I 
cannot  sell  him,  for  nobody  would  buy  him,  nor 
even  accept  him  if  I would  offer  them  so  dangerous 
a present.  If  he  were  to  go  away  the  law  would 
seize  him  and  bring  him  back  to  me,  and  I should 
be  obliged  to  pay  heavily  for  his  retaking  and  his 
maintenance  in  the  workhouse.  In  short,  I know 
not  what  to  do  with  him.” 

The  habit  of  murdering  the  superintendents 
and  ‘‘bushas”  who  had  done  them  an  injury,  some- 
times a very  trivial  injury,  was  one  that  had  always 
to  be  taken  into  account,  and  a negro  who  had 
no  personal  grudge  against  the  doomed  man  could 
always  be  relied  upon  to  help  a friend.  Such  were 
the  strained  relations  between  the  white  and  black. 
A Mr  Dunbar  was  set  upon  and  murdered  by  his 
driver,  helped  by  two  young  men  who  barely  knew 
the  planter  by  sight,  and  they  could  have  had  no 
possible  grudge  against  him  except  that  of  colour. 
Again  and  again  they  had  missed  their  chance  by 
the  merest  accident,  but  one  night  as  he  was  riding 
home  from  a dinner  party  at  Montego  Bay  they 
rushed  out  from  behind  a clump  of  trees,  pulled 
him  down  from  his  horse  and  clubbed  him  to  death. 
No  one  suspected  the  driver,  but  a curious  supersti- 
tion gave  him  away.  Naturally,  all  the  houses  of 
the  slaves  were  searched,  and  in  the  driver’s 
Mr  Dunbar’s  watch  and  one  of  his  ears  was  found. 
The  watch  might  have  been  arrived  at  by  barter, 
but  the  ear  had  been  kept  by  the  murderer  from 
a negro  belief  that  so  long  as  the  murderer  possesses 
one  of  the  ears  of  his  victim  he  will  never  be  haunted 
by  his  spectre. 

It  would  be  monotonous  to  put  down  the  number 


“MAKE  HER  MASS  A GOOD  TO  HER"  233 


of  murders  I have  come  across  in  my  search  for 
old  tales  of  Jamaica.  A book-keeper  was  discovered 
in  one  of  the  cane-pieces  of  Cornwall  with  his  skull 
fractured,  but  the  murderer  was  never  discovered ; 
and  innumerable  were  the  book-keepers  and  over- 
seers who  were  poisoned  by  the  women  they  trusted. 
Often  the  woman  who  mixed  the  draught  had  no 
idea  of  its  being  poison.  She  received  the  ingredients 
from  the  Obeah  man  as  a charm  to  ‘‘make  her 
massa  good  to  her,”  by  which,  says  Lewis,  “the 
negroes  mean  the  compelling  a person  to  give  another 
everything  for  which  that  other  may  ask  him.” 

It  was  always  feud,  feud,  feud.  Reading  the 
slave  books,  we  see  how  much  of  this  bitterness 
must  have  been  engendered.  In  crop  time  the 
slaves  often  had  to  labour  all  night,  and  frequently 
on  Sundays  they  were  in  the  cane-pieces  instead 
of  being  allowed  to  go  to  their  ground,  and  if 
they  had  not  time  to  grow  their  provisions  it  is 
hardly  likely  these  hard  taskmasters  made  good 
the  loss. 

“ Great  evil  arises,”  writes  someone  in  the  Rose 
Hall  estate  book,  possibly  the  Attorney  in  charge, 
“to  the  Negroes  and  stock  from  carting  canes  at 
night.  An  Overseer  who  arranges  his  work  with 
judgment  will  always  have  abundance  of  canes  in 
the  mill  yard  by  commencing  to  carry  early  in  the 
morning.  It  is  therefore  my  desire  that  no  canes 
are  to  be  brought  from  the  field  after  Sunset.” 

J udging  by  this  book,  sometimes  the  mills 
started  after  7 p.m.  on  Sunday  night  and  ran 
continuously  till  the  following  Saturday  night  or 
Sunday  morning  without  intermission  or  rest  for 
anyone,  white  or  black.  How  bitter  might  be  the 
black  man  thus  worked  remorselessly,  even  though 
the  white  man  was  himself  driven  by  a higher  power. 


234 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


A study  of  the  “Eunaways’'  interspersed  up 
and  down  the  pages  among  the  other  entries  shows 
us  very  clearly  the  position  of  the  unfortunate  slave, 
even  though  no  word  is  said  against  him.  Caesar 
on  Rose  Hall  ran  away  again  and  again,  and  we 
feel  great  pity  for  Caesar  because  possibly  he  could 
not  stand  this  appalling  labour.  He  returned  on 
the  6th  July  for  the  last  time,  and  on  the  21st 
of  the  same  month  among  “Decrease  of  negroes” 
is  a simple  note  “By  Caesar  died.”  Poor  Caesar! 
What  agonies  did  he  suffer  during  that  long,  long 
fortnight. 

I went  to  Rose  Hall  once,  a great  four-storied 
stone  building,  approached  by  flights  of  steps  built 
on  arches.  Its  empty  window-places,  from  which 
the  glass  has  long  since  gone,  look  out  over  the 
blue  Caribbean,  its  floors,  where  they  are  not  worm- 
eaten,  are  of  the  most  gorgeous  polished  mahogany, 
and  the  walls  of  the  principal  rooms  are  panelled 
with  the  like  beautiful  polished  wood.  It  is  empty, 
forlorn,  the  glory  has  departed,  it  is  haunted,  they 
say,  and  there  is  a blood  stain  that  will  not  wash 
out  on  the  floor.  Of  Mrs  Palmer,  who  owned  it 
last,  very  unsavoury  tales  are  told.  She  is  said 
to  have  murdered  more  than  one  husband  and  lived 
with  her  own  slaves,  doing  away  with  her  paramour 
when  she  tired  of  him.  No  old  planter  in  the  whole 
island  had  a worse  reputation  than  this  woman, 
who  was  murdered  as  late  as  1833  by  a lover 
who  saw  his  influence  waning.  Rose  Hall  was 
a “bad  estate.”  It  was  notorious  for  the  ill- 
treatment  of  its  slaves.  Underneath  the  Great 
House,  reached  by  a flight  of  stone  steps,  are  rooms 
dark  and  airless,  where  the  unfortunates  who  in 
any  way  transgressed  were  caged.  The  walls  are 
of  heavy  stone,  and  the  only  means  by  which  air 


STARVED  IN  A DUNGEON 


235 


and  light  are  admitted  are  by  narrow  slits  in  those 
walls,  and  they  only  give  into  another  underground 
room.  It  was  a ghastly  and  horrible  place  in  which 
to  confine  anyone,  let  alone  these  children  of  the  sun. 
I said  this  to  a friend  who  told  me  of  another  estate 
on  which  a cruel  master,  when  any  slave  offended 
him,  had  him  shut  up  in  a room — a dungeon  he 
called  it — which  looked  through  iron  bars  on  his 
dining-room.  And  th^re  he  kept  the  offender 
without  food,  and  rejoiced  he  should  be  within 
sight  and  smell  of  the  lavish  plenty  of  the  planter’s 
table.  Like  a barbarian  of  old,  the  cruel  master 
took  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  another’s  suffering. 
The  narrator  went  on  to  say  that  on  one  occasion 
a slave  was  so  shut  up  and  the  master  went  away 
taking  with  him  the  keys,  and  as  no  one  could 
get  in  the  unfortunate  starved  to  death.  This  may 
be  perfectly  true,  for  it  seems  to  me  there  is  no 
particular  form  of  torture  to  which  the  slaves  have 
not  been  subjected  at  one  time  or  another;  reading 
between  the  lines  of  the  Rose  Hall  book,  one  of 
the  latest  slave  books,  you  can  see  this.  Never 
till  I read  up  the  annals  of  Jamaica  did  I so 
thoroughly  realise  the  meaning  of  man’s  inhumanity 
to  man,  and  I suppose  the  lot  of  the  Jamaican 
slave  was  the  lot  of  slaves  all  the  world  over. 
But  we  must  remember  too  that  there  were  certain 
compensations. 

As  Lewis  has  shown,  it  was  impossible  in  later 
times  to  get  rid  of  an  objectionable  slave,  and  the 
slave  when  he  was  old  and  ill  was  by  the  kind 
master  protected  and  cared  for,  and  the  women 
who  had  borne  many  children  were  exempt  from 
all  work.  They  were  supposed  to  have  no  anxieties 
about  the  future,  that  should  be  their  master’s  care. 
At  its  best,  slavery  supplied  no  stimulus  to  industry ; 


236 


THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF  THE  YEARS 


at  its  worst — well,  no  words  are  bad  enough  for 
slavery  at  its  worst. 

In  the  Worthy  Park  slave  book  there  is  frequent 
mention  made  of  a slave  always  referred  to  as  Creole 
Cuba’s  Cufifee,  who  seems  to  have  been  unmanage- 
able. At  any  rate  he  was  always  in  trouble,  and 
at  last  he  was  sent  to  Spring  Gardens,  where  were 
others  also  difficult  to  deal  with.  It  was  not  till  I 
read  in  Lewis’s  book  the  evil  reputation  of  an  estate 
called  Spring  Gardens,  about  that  time,  that  I knew 
how  dreadful  was  their  fate.  Lewis  quotes  the 
owner  as  the  cruellest  proprietor  that  ever  disgraced 
Jamaica.  It  was  his  practice  when  a negro  was  sick 
unto  death,  to  order  him  to  be  carried  to  a distant 
gully  among  the  mountains  on  his  estate,  there  to 
be  cast  out  and  left  to  die,  and  the  ‘‘John  Crows” 
would  clear  away  his  bones.  He  also  instructed  the 
men  who  carried  the  unfortunate  to  the  gully  to 
strip  him  before  they  left  him,  telling  them  to  be 
careful  not  only  to  bring  back  his  frock,  but  the 
very  board  on  which  he  had  been  carried.  On 
one  occasion  a poor  creature  while  being  removed, 
screamed  out  that  he  was  not  dead  yet,  and 
implored  them  not  to  leave  him  to  perish  in  the 
gully.  His  master  cared  nothing  and  ordered  the 
funeral  to  proceed,  but  the  bearers  were  less  hard 
hearted  and  they  brought  the  sick  man  back  secretly 
to  the  negro  village  and  nursed  him  till  he  recovered, 
when  he  was  smuggled  off  the  estate  to  Kingston. 
Apparently  he  found  means  to  support  himself  there 
for  one  day,  his  late  master  on  turning  a corner  came 
face  to  face  with  the  man  whose  bones  he  thought 
had  long  ago  been  picked  clean  by  the  “John  Crows.” 
He  immediately  seized  him  and  claimed  him  as  his 
slave,  and  ordered  the  men  who  were  with  him  to 
drag  him  to  his  house.  But  the  slave  made  one 


THE  IMPROVING  POSITION  237 

more  bid  for  freedom.  He  shrieked  and  cried  out 
his  woes,  and  I am  glad  to  say  that  in  Kingston  the 
spirit  of  fair  play  held  good.  The  crowd  that 
gathered  were  so  excited  by  the  tale  that  Mr 
Bedward  was  glad  to  save  himself  from  being  torn 
to  pieces,  fled  from  Kingston,  and  never  again  dared 
to  claim  that  slave  risen  from  the  dead. 

Lewis  tells  too  of  a man  who  was  tried  in 
Kingston  for  cruel  treatment  of  a sambo  woman 
slave.  She  had  no  friends  to  support  her  cause, 
nor  any  other  evidence  to  prove  her  assertions  than 
the  apparent  truth  of  her  statement,  and  the  marks 
of  having  been  branded  in  five  different  places.  Her 
master  was  actually  sentenced  to  six  months  im- 
prisonment, and  the  slave  was  given  her  freedom 
as  compensation  for  her  sufferings. 

Thus  we  see  slowly  through  the  years  the  position 
of  the  slave  improving. 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 

The  feud  that  raged  over  the  religious  instruction 
of  the  negroes  makes  a curious  piece  of  Jamaican 
history. 

“The  imported  Africans  were  wild,  savage  and 
barbarous  in  the  extreme ; their  untractable  passions 
and  ferocious  temperament  rendered  severity  neces- 
sary. They  provoked  the  iron  rule  of  harsh 
authority ; and  the  earliest  laws,  constructed  to 
restrain  their  unexampled  atrocities,  were  rigid 
and  inclement.  They  exhibited,  in  fact,  such 
depravity  of  nature  and  deformity  of  mind  as  gave 
colour  to  the  prevailing  belief  in  a natural  inferiority 
of  intellect;  so  that  the  colonist  conceived  it  to  be 
a crime  of  no  greater  moral  magnitude  to  kill  a 
negro  than  to  destroy  a monkey ; however  rare  their 
interest  in  them,  as  valuable  property,  rendered  such 
a lamentable  test  of  conscience.” 

Thus  the  Rev.  George  William  Bridges  on  the 
negroes  when  their  spiritual  state  was  exercising 
the  minds  of  all  the  religious  teachers.  This 
particular  shepherd  was  wroth  because  he  objected 
to  the  sectarians,  that  is  Quakers,  Methodists  and 
Baptists,  taking  upon  themselves  any  interest  in  the 
souls  of  the  slaves.  “The  country  already  pays,”  he 
remarks,  “near  £40,000  per  annum  for  their  religious 
instruction.” 


238 


OPEN  TO  A BARGAIN  239 

I don’t  know  if  I shall  be  called  libellous,  but 
it  does  seem  to  me  that  the  Church  was  decidedly 
slack  in  dispensing  that  instruction  for  which  she 
was  so  highly  paid.  She  administered  religion  in 
the  impersonal  and  dignified  manner  that  was  her 
wont,  and  the  slaves  might  be  christened  if  they  so 
desired.  Of  course  they  had  to  get  their  master’s 
consent,  for  it  was  not  likely  the  parson  was  going 
to  do  it  for  nothing,  and  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  it  cost  four  bits  a head,  that  is  about  2s.  6d. 
But  the  clergyman  was  sometimes  open  to  a bargain, 
and  would  do  the  whole  estate  for  a fixed  sum — 
about  half  the  usual  cost  per  head.  And  sometimes 
a whole  estate  would  clamour  to  be  christened. 
Sometimes  they  did  it  as  a safeguard  against  some 
feared  Obeah  man,  and  sometimes  simply  to  have 
names  like  the  buckra.  After  their  new  name 
they  added  that  of  their  master  for  a surname, 
and  reserved  the  old  name  for  common  use.  And 
then  came  trouble  for  the  overseer  or  book-keeper, 
for  the  new  Christians  while  exceedingly  proud  of 
being  Christians  like  the  buckras,  were  apt  to 
forget  their  new  names,  and  were  always  teasing 
to  be  told  them,  for,  of  course,  they  were  recorded 
in  the  estate  book. 

As  late  as  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  no 
one  bothered  about  the  naming  of  the  slaves,  and 
we  find  them  entered  in  the  Worthy  Park  estate 
book  as  Villian  and  Mutton,  Baddo,  Woman  and 
Whore,  but  towards  the  end  of  the  first  quarter  of 
the  nineteenth,  when  Lewis  writes,  we  find  that  even 
the  Eose  Hall  slaves,  and  Eose  Hall  slaves  were 
backward,  had  been  christened,  most  of  them. 

Hannibal,  a Creole,  that  is  a slave  born  in  the 
island,  aged  54,  of  good  disposition,  appears  to 
have  been  content  with  his  old  slave  name ; but 


240 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


Ulysses,  of  the  same  age,  and  also  a Creole  of  good 
disposition,  becomes  Henry  and  adds  Palmer  because 
that  was  the  name  of  liis  owner.  Shemonth  and 
Adonis,  both  Creoles  of  42  and  39,  make  no  change, 
perhaps  the  owner  would  not  pay  for  their  christen- 
ing, neither  does  Aaron,  an  African  of  44,  though 
how  they  knew  the  age  of  an  African  unless  he  had 
been  bought  as  a baby  I do  not  know.  Out  of 
fifty  male  negroes  nearly  half  changed  their  names, 
but  some  who  did  not  were  children,  so  perhaps 
they  were  christened  in  the  ordinary  way.  The 
names  they  chose  seem  to  have  been  singularly 
commonplace.  Why  should  Adam,  aged  6,  become 
William  Bennett  ? Or  Othello,  who  was  older, 
J.  Fletcher?  Why  should  Robert,  a quadroon  3 
years  old,  become  Lawrence  Low,  and  why  should 
Isaac,  12,  become  simple  J.  James  ? 

Out  of  sixty  women  and  girls  only  six  of  mature 
age  neglected  to  change  their  names.  None  of  the 
older  women  are  married,  but  some  of  the  younger 
ones  add  their  married  names.  Still,  matrimony  was 
not  much  in  favour,  either  with  slave  or  free.  Lady 
Nugent,  twenty  years  before  this  book  was  entered 
up,  is  always  worrying  about  it. 

‘‘  See  Martin's  daughter  soon  after  breakfast.  It 
is  a sad  thing  to  see  this  good,  kind  woman,  in  other 
respects  so  easy,  on  the  subject  of  what  a decent 
kind  of  woman  in  England  would  be  ashamed  of 
and  shocked  at.  She  told  me  of  all  her  children 
by  different  fathers  with  the  greatest  sangfroid. 
The  mother  is  quite  looked  up  to  at  Port  Royal, 
and  yet  her  life  has  been  most  profligate  as  we  should 
think  at  least  in  England." 

And  so,  I suppose,  these  slave  women  who  were 
entered  in  the  book  about  twenty  years  after  Lady 
Nugent  left  the  island,  Cecelia  and  Amelia  and  Maph 


BAPTISM  IN  HIGH  VOGUE 


241 


and  Cowslip,  who  was  christened  Mary  Paton,  and 
May  who  became  Hannah  Palmer,  never  bothered 
about  matrimony.  What  made  Sussanah  Johnston 
become  Elizabeth  Palmer  I wonder,  and  why  did 
Kate  become  Annie  Brindley,  and  why  was  Erankie, 
who  was  only  32,  and  valued  at  £90,  neither 
christened  nor  married?  I don’t  know  that  Sabina 
isn’t  a prettier  name  than  Eliza,  but  a Creole  negro 
slave  of  a hundred  years  ago  evidently  didn’t  agree 
with  me.  Eve  aged  9 became  Ellen,  and  to  change  a 
negro  Venus  to  Eliza  Stennet  is  bathos  indeed. 

‘‘Baptism,”  says  Lewis,  “was  in  high  vogue,  and 
whenever  one  of  them  told  me  a monstrous  lie — 
and  they  told  me  whole  dozens — he  never  failed  to 
conclude  his  story  by  saying,  ‘Now,  massa,  you  know 
I’ve  been  christened,  and  if  you  do  not  believe  what 
I say  I’m  ready  to  buss  the  book  to  the  truth  of  it.’ 
I am  assured  that  unless  a negro  has  an  interest  in 
telling  the  truth,  he  always  lies  in  order  to  keep  his 
tongue  in  practice.” 

The  question  Lewis  did  not  ask  himself  was 
whether  a white  man  in  like  circumstances  would 
have  behaved  any  better. 

It  may  be  that  the  planters  were — some  of  them 
— brutal  men,  but  I know  that  had  I lived  in  those 
times  I should  probably,  like  the  planters,  have 
regarded  the  ministers  of  the  other  denominations 
outside  the  Church  of  England  as  most  offensively 
olBficious.  The  planters  as  was  not  unnatural  re- 
garded their  slaves  as  their  property,  property  for 
which  they  had  paid  very  heavily,  and  even  though 
they  allowed  them  many  privileges  they  desired  it 
to  be  clearly  understood  that  these  were  privileges 
given  of  their  own  goodwill,  and  by  no  means 
to  be  considered  as  rights.  The  Baptists  and 
Methodists  preached  what  the  planters  considered 


242 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


sedition.  Even  tolerant  Lewis  forbade  the  Methodists 
on  Cornwall  and  Hordly,  though  he  allowed  any 
other  denomination  to  preach  to  the  slaves,  and 
much  as  I dislike  the  Church  of  England  parson 
Bridges,  I dislike  still  more  the  Rev.  H.  Bleby. 
He  and  his  confreres  must  have  been  a most 
pernicious  lot.  Evidently  on  their  own  showing 
they  were  not  men  of  education.  They  took 
the  Bible  as  their  guide,  quoting  it  in  season  and 
out  of  season.  This  is  of  course  not  a crime,  but 
even  nowadays  it  grates  on  the  average  man. 
In  those  days  the  insistence  that  the  negro  was  a 
man  and  a brother  when  his  master  declared  him 
a chattel  was  extremely  offensive. 

Besides  the  doctrine  of  equality  was  considered 
dangerous.  It  was  dangerous. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  the 
talk  of  freedom  was  in  the  air.  It  was  the  burning 
question  of  the  day  in  Jamaica.  The  planters  dis- 
cussed it  openly  at  their  tables,  so  did  the  overseers 
and  book-keepers,  and  the  listening  slaves  waiting 
round  the  table  carried  all  the  gossip  to  the  slave 
quarters,  for  then  as  now  the  black  people  went 
back  to  their  quarters  once  the  day’s  work  was 
done.  The  tinder  was  more  than  dry  when  the 
spark  fell. 

The  former  revolts  in  Jamaica  had  frankly  been 
outbreaks  of  savages,  dimly  conscious  of  wrong, 
trying  to  regain  their  freedom,  but  the  revolt  of 
1831-32  was  a revolt  into  which  religion  entered 
largely.  The  planters  declared  openly  it  was 
engineered  by  the  Baptists,  and  the  slaves  them- 
selves called  it  the  ‘‘Baptist  War”  and  the  “Black 
Family  War,”  the  Baptists  being  styled  in  slave 
parlance  the  “Black  Family.” 

Bleby  discussing  this  last  of  the  slave  revolts 


[Face  243- 


Montkgo  Hay  and  H'own,  Jamaica. 


CONSTERNATION  IN  MONTEGO  BAY 


243 


which  raged  through  Hanover,  Westmoreland,  St 
James  and  Trelawny,  declares  it  started  because  a 
certain  Mr  Grignon,  the  Attorney  of  Salt  Springs 
near  Montego  Bay,  going  out  there  one  day  close 
to  Christmas  met  a woman  with  a piece  of  sugar- 
cane in  her  hand — not  a very  desperate  offence  one 
would  think — and  concluding  it  had  been  stolen 
from  Salt  Springs — it  probably  had — not  only  punished 
her  on  the  spot  but  took  her  back  to  the  plantation 
and  called  upon  the  head  driver  to  strip  and  flog 
her.  She  happened  to  be  this  man’s  wife,  so  he 
refused,  and  the  second  driver  was  called  upon  and 
he  too  refused,  and  all  the  people  taking  their  cue 
from  their  headmen  defended  her.  The  Attorney 
could  not  get  that  woman  flogged,  and  becoming 
alarmed  at  the  attitude  of  the  people  he  called  out 
the  constabulary  to  arrest  the  offenders.  But  the 
whole  body  of  the  slaves  menaced  the  constables, 
and  the  principal  offenders  made  their  escape  to  the 
woods.  And  the  woods  round  Montego  Bay,  woods 
that  clothe  all  the  hills  that  the  Maroons  held  so 
long,  are  particularly  suited  for  such  guerilla  warfare. 

Kensington,  a place  high  in  the  mountains, 
was  the  first  place  burned,  and  presently  the  night 
was  lighted  by  properties  burning  in  all  directions. 
Down  the  steep  hills  from  Kempshot,  down  through 
the  dense  jungle  from  Retirement,  from  Montpelier 
and  from  Salt  Springs,  came  the  white  people 
flocking  to  Montego  Bay.  We  can  understand  the 
consternation  that  prevailed  in  the  town.  We  can 
imagine  the  unbridled  delight  of  the  slaves  as 
Great  House  after  Great  House  was  abandoned  and 
went  up  in  flames.  Those  flames  spelled  to  them 
freedom,  and  they  were  sure  that  the  whole  island 
was  given  over  to  them.  It  was  not.  And  in 
this  revolt  there  was  a peculiar  character  that  we 


244 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


find  in  no  other.  Many  of  the  slaves  were  partly 
civilised  now.  It  was  twenty  years  since  any  had 
been  imported  from  Africa ; many  were  acquiring 
a little  property  and  had  some  small  stake  in  the 
land,  and  must  have  felt  the  futility  of  the  uprising. 
And  on  these  the  consequences  of  the  revolt  pressed 
heaviest.  Which  side  were  they  to  take  ? As 
plantation  after  plantation  went  up  in  flames, 
doubtless  they  were  inclined  to  believe  what  the 
insurgent  leaders  told  them,  that  the  country — the 
country  they  loved,  their  country — had  been  abandoned 
by  the  white  men.  The  position  of  the  faithful 
slaves  was  difficult. 

Bleby  says,  and  a certain  Mr  Beaumont,  who 
certainly  was  not  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  slaves, 
says  that  many  of  them  were  more  afraid  of  the 
insurgents  than  they  were  of  the  free  inhabitants, 
and  many  were  carried  oS  by  the  insurgents  and 
forced  to  accompany  them. 

But  this  did  not  save  them  once  the  whites 
got  the  upper  hand.  The  planters  put  every  slave 
in  the  same  category  and  hanged  ruthlessly,  asking 
no  questions,  believing  no  assertions  of  innocence. 
They  had  been  badly  frightened,  and  they  took 
vengeance  like  frightened  men. 

About  the  revolt  Bleby  gives  us  more  informa- 
tion than  perhaps  he  intended.  He  is  delightful — 
unconsciously. 

“ Information  reached  the  Commanding  Officer,” 
he  says,  “ that  it  was  the  intention  of  the  insurgents 
to  attack  and  pillage  the  town ; and  as  the  number 
of  men  was  inadequate  to  the  purpose,  he  required 
all  who  were  capable  of  bearing  arms  to  enrol  them- 
selves for  its  defence”  (it  certainly  seems  to  me 
a very  natural  desire  on  the  part  of  the  Commanding 
Officer),  “myself,  a Scotch  missionary  and  a curate 


A VALUABLE  RECRUIT 


245 


included,  the  rector  and  another  curate  having 
already  presented  themselves  as  volunteers.  I was 
far  from  yielding  a cordial  consent  to  this  demand 
upon  my  services,”  how  they  must  have  loved 
him.  ‘‘  He  gave  promise  that  we  should  not  be 
required  to  leave  the  town,  and  should  only  be 
called  upon  to  act  if  the  safety  of  the  place  should 
be  menaced.” 

And  now,  listen  to  the  suflPerings  of  this  noble 
gentleman.  One  day  they  were  asked  to  go  a little 
way  into  the  country  and  to  return  in  the  evening, 
but  when  they  had  been  gone  some  distance  he 
found  they  had  no  intention  of  returning  for  several 
days.  I can  see  the  Commanding  Officer  smiling 
secretly  over  the  discomfiture  of  his  valuable  recruit. 
Incredible  as  it  seems,  considering  the  country  was 
in  the  throes  of  a slave  revolt,  with  all  its  possible 
horrors,  this  gentleman  can  actually  write  that  they 
were  ‘^harassed  by  journeys  day  after  day  amongst 
the  woods  and  mountains,  often  riding  for  eight 
or  ten  hours  in  succession  beneath  a scorching  sun, 
and  sleeping  without  pillow,  sheet  or  mat,  or  any 
other  accommodation  on  the  boarded  or  earthen 
floor  of  the  house  where  we  might  happen  to  stop 
for  the  night.” 

Truly  a very  gallant  gentleman ! I quite  feel 
for  the  pleasure  the  Commanding  Officer  must  have 
got  out  of  making  him  as  uncomfortable  as  he 
possibly  could.  Doubtless  he  would  have  joyfully 
put  him  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  had  there 
been  a battle,  but  there  wasn't  one. 

After  the  first  riotous  outburst,  when  the  whites 
were  taken  by  surprise,  there  seems  to  have  been 
no  hope  for  the  wretched  slaves. 

The  militia  was  composed  naturally  of  planters, 
the  officers  being  in  many  instances  men  whose 

R 


246 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


property  had  been  destroyed  by  the  insurgents,  and 
who  regarded  themselves  as  ruined  or  reduced  to 
the  verge  of  ruin  by  the  revolted  negroes.  We 
cannot  but  agree  with  Bleby  that  these  were  the 
last  men  who  should  have  tried  them,  but  try  them 
they  did,  and  the  reprisals  were  terrible.  As  in 
the  old  days  the  Romans  in  Sicily,  if  I remember 
rightly,  crucified  their  rebellious  slaves  along  the 
sea- shore,  so  these  Jamaican  planters  hanged  and 
shot  the  deluded  people  without  finding  out  whether 
they  were  guilty  or  not.  After  six  weeks  of  trials, 
one  of  the  newspapers  at  Montego  Bay  gravely 
announced : “ The  executions  during  the  week  have 
been  considerably  diminished,  being  in  number  only 
fourteen.” 

They  hanged  them  by  twos  and  threes  in  the 
public  market-place  and  left  them  hanging  there 
till  another  lot  were  due,  when  they  cut  down 
the  bodies  and  left  them  lying  on  the  ground  till 
the  workhouse  negroes  came  out  with  carts  in  the 
evening  and  took  them  away,  to  cast  them  into  a pit 
dug  for  the  purpose  a little  distance  from  the  town. 

When  the  tropical  day  drew  swiftly  to  its  ending, 
and  the  sun  sank  gorgeous  into  the  sea,  when  the 
purple  and  gold  changed  to  bands  of  seashell  pink 
and  delicate  nile  green,  and  the  shadows  swept  up 
and  the  stars,  gleaming  crystals,  came  out  in  a sky 
of  velvet,  then  for  me  those  dead -and -gone  slaves, 
trapped  in  a web  of  circumstance,  rose  from  their 
graves  and  walked  along  the  shore.  Ignorant,  toil- 
worn,  insolent,  cringing  by  turns,  with  all  the  vices 
of  their  unwilling  servitude  upon  them,  they  cry  to 
high  heaven  for  vengeance.  And  avenged  they 
have  been,  for  surely  Jamaica  is  the  land  of  wasted 
opportunities. 

There  is  an  old  house  high  on  the  hills  above 


“FOR  GOD’S  SAKE  HAVE  PITY!”  247 

Montego  Bay.  It  is  beautifully  situated,  looking 
away  over  the  hills  and  over  the  lovely  bay.  It  has 
two-foot  thick  stone  walls  built  by  slave  labour,  the 
pillars  that  uphold  the  verandah  are  of  solid 
mahogany — painted  white  by  some  Goth — and  the 
windows  are  heavily  shuttered. 

It  is  haunted,  they  say. 

‘‘  Knock,  knock,  knock  ! ” comes  a sound  against 
the  shutters  of  one  room  every  night,  a passionately 
appealing  knock  that  will  not  be  stayed.  Only  some 
people  can  hear  it,  but  when  they  do,  it  wrings  their 
hearts,  so  importunate  is  it.  One  man  I know  of 
sitting  there  reading  at  night,  used  every  prayer 
and  exhortation  he  could  think  of  to  still  that  uneasy 
ghost — he  was  a priest  of  the  Church  of  Eome — 
but  it  would  not  be  stilled,  and  at  last  he — practical, 
middle-aged  man  as  he  was,  fled  away  from  the 
sound  of  it  to  some  friends  who  lived  the  other 
side  of  the  town,  and  refused  ever  to  come  back  to 
that  haunted  house.  Was  it  some  unhappy  woman 
begging  and  praying  her  master  who  had  been  her 
lover  to  intercede  for  her  son  caught  in  the  slave 
revolt?  Whoever  it  was  prayed  there,  prayed  in 
vain,  and  now  sensitive  souls  hear  the  knock,  knock, 
knock,  for  God’s  sake  have  pity  and  help  me  ! ” 

Oh,  most  of  the  houses  of  the  old  slave  town 
could  tell  pitiful  stories. 

Bleby  tells  ghastly  ones  of  what  happened  to  the 
unfortunate  slaves  when  the  whites  had  recovered 
themselves  and  got  the  upper  hand.  In  reading 
them,  we  must  always  remember  that  this  is  always 
the  case  when  a handful  of  people  holding  a very 
much  larger  class  by  fear  has  been  thoroughly 
frightened  itself. 

There  was  a negro  named  Bailey  who  had  hidden 
his  master’s  silver  for  safety  in  a cave,  and  after  the 


248  THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 

rebellion  was  over  he  took  one  of  the  women  belonging 
to  the  estate  and  went  to  the  cave  to  bring  back 
to  the  house  the  property  which  he  had  hidden. 
He  sent  ofif  the  woman  with  a load  upon  her  head, 
and  remained  behind  to  get  out  the  rest.  A 
company  of  militia  came  upon  him  thus  engaged. 
They  paid  no  heed  to  his  explanations,  and  when  the 
woman  returned  for  another  load  he  had  been 
hanged  as  a man  taken  red-handed ! 

But  the  case  that  Bleby  dilates  upon  is  that  of 
a negro  named  Henry  Williams.  Now  Henry 
Williams  appears  to  have  been  a very  decent,  respect- 
able man,  far  advanced  from  the  wild  savage  who  was 
his  progenitor.  He  was  wickedly  treated,  but  I do 
not  think  he  was  exactly  the  martyr  Bleby  makes  out. 

‘‘  He  was  a respected  and  useful  class  leader  in 
the  Wesleyan  Society  at  Beechamville,”  says  Bleby. 
Can’t  we  imagine  him  ? He  was  a driver  when  he 
wasn’t  in  religion,  a slave  on  Eural  Eetreat,  and  the 
adjoining  estate  belonged  to  our  friend  the  Eev. 
George  William  Bridges.  This  was  extremely  unlucky 
for  Henry,  for  evidently  the  attorney  who  managed 
Eural  Eetreat  and  Mr  Bridges  got  talking  together, 
and  doubtless  agreed  on  the  unfortunately  growing 
tendency  of  the  slaves  to  think  for  themselves.  More 
particularly  did  they  objebt  to  this  chapel  - going, 
and  the  attorney  of  Eural  Eetreat  instanced  Henry  as 
a particularly  virulent  specimen  of  the  genus  Black 
Baptist.  They  concocted  a plan  which  holds  them 
both  up  to  contempt.  The  manager  of  Eural  Eetreat 
sent  for  Henry,  and  though  he  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  any  place  of  worship,  told  him  that  he 
was  going  to  church  at  Mr  Bridges’  house  and  desired 
the  attendance  of  all  the  slaves  on  Eural  Eetreat. 
None  were  to  go  to  Bellemont  chapel,  which  appears 
to  have  been  the  place  they  affected.  But  none 


CHAINS  AND  THE  WHIP 


249 


came  to  Mr  Bridges’  house  save  and  except  Henry. 
Even  his  wife  and  children  had  gone  to  Bellemont 
as  usual.  On  his  master  asking  him  why  he  had 
not  obeyed  his  order  and  brought  the  people  to 
service,  he  answered  meekly  enough  that  the  people 
were  not  under  his  direction  on  Sunday. 

‘‘But  have  I not  told  you,”  said  his  master,  “that 
you  and  the  people  are  not  to  go  to  Bellemont  chapel 
preaching  and  praying  ? How  dare  you  go  when  I 
tell  you  not  and  encourage  the  people  to  disobey 
my  orders?  I’ll  teach  you  to  disobey  my  orders. 
You  shall  not  go  to  Bellemont  for  nothing ! ” 

And  he  actually  sent  the  unfortunate  man  to  the 
Eodney  Hall  Workhouse,  the  most  dreaded  work- 
house  in  the  whole  island — this  man  who  was  a class 
leader  and  a man  of  standing  among  his  own  people — 
with  his  hands  tied  behind  his  back  and  in  charge  of 
other  slaves  like  a common  criminal,  though  they  knew 
perfectly  well  that  he  would  have  gone  and  delivered 
himself  up  to  receive  what  was  coming  to  him. 

“I  have  no  mind,”  said  his  master,  “that  you 
should  go  there  as  a gentleman,  as  if  you  were  going 
on  your  own  business.” 

“ Excessive  labour,  miserable  diet,  chains  and  the 
whip,  soon  brought  down  his  strength,”  writes  Bleby, 
and  he  goes  on  to  tell  at  length  of  his  suffering.  His 
leg  was  so  diseased  that  he  could  not  put  it  to  the 
ground,  he  had  been  thrashed  till  his  back  was  one 
unspeakable  sore,  so  pestiferous  that  the  prisoners 
in  the  same  cell  complained  that  the  stench  pro- 
ceeding from  his  wounds  was  too  great  to  be  endured. 
At  last  he  was  released.  And  I suppose  for  want 
of  any  other  place  to  go  to,  made  his  way  back  to 
his  own  people. 

And  his  master  made  him  the  text  of  his  dis- 
course to  his  slaves. 


250 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


‘'Do  you  see  that  man,”  he  said.  “There  is  a 
man  that  wears  as  good  a coat  as  I do,  and  can 
be  trusted  with  anything  about  the  property,  but 

because  he  will  go  to  that preaching  place,  you 

see  what  a tremendous  punishment  I have  laid  upon 
him  ; and  if  I will  serve  that  man  so,  what  won't  I 
do  to  the  rest  of  you  if  you  disobey  my  orders  and 
go  to  Bellemont  chapel.” 

Undoubtedly  Williams  could  have  induced  the 
people  on  the  estate  to  go  to  chm^ch,  and  undoubtedly 
he  encouraged  them  to  disobey  their  master.  It 
shows  a great  step  upwards  in  the  status  of  the 
slave,  and  it  shows  us  clearly  the  cruelty  of  slavery. 
Why  should  not  a man  worship  where  he  pleased  ? 
But  it  was  for  disobedience  that  Williams  was 
punished.  Bleby  talks  about  him  as  we  should  of 
a saint  and  martyr.  He  may  have  been,  but  in  the 
eyes  of  his  master  he  was  merely  a very  disobedient 
slave  whom  he  had  to  break  lest  the  disaffection 
spread. 

Bleby  is  an  amusing  person,  though  he  does  not 
intend  it.  He  finds  in  the  end  that  all  those  who 
had  ill-treated  the  slaves  suffered  punishment  at  the 
hands  of  God.  Most  of  them  were  cut  off  in  their 
prime,  by  accident  or  suicide,  all  but  Mr  Bridges 
the  rector,  who  had  his  deserts  in  a different 
manner. 

“One  morning,  having  breakfasted  on  board  a 
ship  in  the  harbour  with  his  four  youthful  and  lovely 
daughters,  who  were  but  too  fondly  beloved,  and 
several  other  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  whole  party 
went  out  for  a short  excursion  in  the  ship's  boats. 
While  they  were  thus  pleasurably  engaged  a squall 
arose,  unobserved  by  the  party  in  the  boats,  and 
swept  suddenly  across  the  bay  (‘beautiful  Kingston 
Harbour ' ),  when  the  boat  containing  the  four 


THE  COLONIAL  CHURCH  UNION  251 

young  ladies  and  two  or  three  other  persons  was 
capsized,  and  the  sisters  all  disappeared,  to  be  seen 
no  more.  The  agony  of  the  bereaved  parent  while 
he  gazed  from  the  other  boat  upon  the  spot  where 
his  children  had  been  swallowed  up  in  a moment, 
raay  be  more  easily  conceived  than  described.  He 
was  stricken  to  the  dust.  The  towering  pride  which 
was  characteristic  of  the  man  gave  way  when  he  thus 
felt  the  hand  of  God  upon  him.” 

It  was  men  like  Bleby  who  took  the  religious 
training  of  the  slaves  in  hand.  And  they  succeeded 
in  gaining  their  confidence,  not  because  they  were 
the  best  people  to  have  their  minds  and  morals  in 
charge,  but  for  the  very  same  reason  that  such 
Nonconformists  succeeded  in  England.  They  saw 
how  cruelly,  heavily,  the  established  rules  pressed 
upon  those  in  the  lower  social  stratum,  and  they  not 
only  sympathised  with  them  but  promised  repara- 
tion in  another  life. 

Feeling  ran  very  high  in  Jamaica  in  those  times. 
The  Colonial  Church  Union  was  formed,  and  the 
members  behaved  in  a manner  that  would  have 
been  unseemly  in  a collection  of  drunken  pugilists, 
let  alone  people  declaring  themselves  supporters  of 
the  Established  Church  of  the  realm.  Up  and  down 
the  land  they  waged  war  against  the  “sectarians,” 
they  visited  the  houses  of  these  preachers,  and  on 
more  than  one  occasion  tarred  and  feathered  those 
they  particularly  disliked.  On  one  occasion  they 
even  wreaked  their  wrath  on  Bleby  himself.  Now 
I do  not  think  any  man  should  be  tarred  and 
feathered,  but  if  any  man  was  going  to  be,  I am 
really  glad  it  was  Bleby.  There  is  something  about 
his  book  which  makes  me — who  would  like  to  be 
an  impartial  historian — thoroughly  dislike  him.  I can 
quite  appreciate  the  effect  he  had  upon  his  compeers. 


252  THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 

The  editor  of  the  C our  ant,  a paper  which  appears 
to  liave  been  published  at  Montego  Bay,  wrote  : “ The 

bills  against  the  painters  of  parson  B have  aL 

been  thrown  out,  and  the  chapel  razers  have  not 
been  recognised ; so  they  are  all  a party  of  igno- 
ramuses ! I have  only  to  say  for  myself,  that  if  l 
mad  dog  was  passing  my  way,  I would  have  nc 
hesitation  in  shooting  him ; and  if  I found  a furious 
animal  on  two  legs  teaching  a parcel  of  poor  ignorant 

beings  to  cut  my or  to  fire  my  dwelling,  my 

conscience  would  not  trouble  me  one  bit  more  for 
destroying  him,  than  it  would  for  the  destruction 
of  a mad  dog.” 

There  we  have  the  feelings  of  the  two  classes 
in  a nut- shell,  as  quoted  by  that  pestilential  person 
Bleby  himself.  The  planters  were  very  sure  that 
the  dissenters  bv  their  teaching  were  inciting  the 
negroes  to  rebellion,  and  having  read  Bleby  care- 
fully, I can  quite  understand  how  the  teaching  of 
men  like  him  undoubtedly  widened  the  breach  there 
must  always  have  been  between  master  and  slave. 

Most  dissenters  I fancy  came  under  suspicion. 
There  was  a young  man  called  MThiteley,  a relation 
of  the  absentee  proprietor  of  an  estate  called  Xew 
Ground,  who  had  been  sent  out  by  his  relation  with 
letters  to  the  manager,  and  a suggestion  that  he 
should  be  given  work  on  the  estate.  But  what 
he  saw  there  he  did  not  like.  He  spoke  openly  of 
his  dislike  and  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  St 
Ann’s  Colonial  Church  Union,  and  they  sent  him  a 
deputation  of  two  of  their  number,  stating  : — 

“ 1st.  That  they  had  heard  he  had  been  leading 
the  minds  of  the  slaves  astray  by  holding  forth 
doctrines  of  a tendency  to  make  them  discontented 
with  their  present  condition. 

2ndly.  That  he  was  a Methodist. 


TAR  AND  FEATHERS 


253 


3rdly.  That  they  had  a barrel  of  tar  down  on 
the  bay  to  tar  and  feather  him,  as  he  well  deserved, 
and  that  they  would  do  so  by  G 1 ” 

Now  his  offences  appear  very  mild,  and  hardly 
deserve  such  drastic  treatment,  though  I think  the 
young  man  was  a little  smug. 

Here  are  the  offences : — 

1st.  He  acknowledged  he  had  written  a letter  to 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Pinnock,  a Wesleyan  missionary, 
asking  him  to  help  him  in  getting  other  employment 
away  from  the  estate.  Surely  quite  the  proper  thing 
to  do,  since  he  did  not  like  the  way  the  estate  was 
conducted. 

2ndly.  In  a letter  written  to  the  attorney  of  New 
Ground,  he  had  said,  “ The  Lord  reward  you  for  the 
kindness  you  have  shown  me,  and  grant  you  in  health 
and  wealth  long  to  live  ! ” 

I really  can’t  see  that  that  called  for  tar  and 
feathers. 

Srdly.  That  he  had  said  to  a slave  who  had 
opened  a gate  for  him  at  a certain  place,  “The 
Lord  bless  you  ! ” 

4thly.  That  he  had  asked  the  drivers  of  the 
workhouse  gang  questions  respecting  the  offences 
of  negroes  of  that  gang.  And  surely  that  was 
harmless  enough. 

5thly.  That  he  had  made  private  remarks  about 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  seen  Mr  M‘Lean  the 
overseer  treat  the  slaves. 

Here  one  of  the  deputation,  Dicken,  who  was 
overseer  at  Windsor,  a neighbouring  estate,  told 
him  that  he  had  two  negroes  at  that  moment  in 
the  stocks;  and  added  with  a brutal  oath,  if  he 
would  come  over  in  the  morning  he  would  let  him 
see  them  properly  flogged. 

I wonder  how  many  unfortunates  got  an  extra 


254 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


flogging,  not  because  they  deserved  it,  but  just  to 
show  those  who  were  bent  on  helping  the  negro 
that  the  other  side,  who  were  pledged  to  slavery 
and  things  as  they  were,  defied  them  and  all  their 
works. 

The  last  accusation  the  young  man  declared  had 
not  a particle  of  truth  in  it.  He  had  never  preached 
to  150  slaves  at  one  time,  though  to  all  the  other 
ofiences  he  pleaded  guilty. 

It  shows  how  high  party  spirit  ran,  how  the 
planting  class  objected  to  raising  the  status  of 
the  slave,  when  we  find  that  these  planters  managed 
to  get  that  dangerous  young  man  banished  the 
island  before  he  had  been  there  fourteen  weeks. 
He  was  sowing  the  seeds  of  disaffection  in  a soil 
already  ripe. 

“These  extracts,”  says  Bleby,  “show  . . . the 
almost  rabid  hostility  of  the  planters  to  everything, 
and  to  every  person  who  had  the  most  distant 
connection  with  the  religious  instruction  of  their 
slaves.” 

Again  and  again  the  Colonial  Church  Union 
shut  up  the  chapels,  razed  them  to  the  ground,  and 
drove  out  and  often  tarred  and  feathered  the 
preachers.  Their  very  lives  according  to  Bleby 
were  in  danger.  At  last  these  doings  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  Governor,  the  Earl  of  Mulgrave, 
afterwards  the  Marquess  of  Normanby,  and  he  took 
the  strong  measure  of  dismissing  from  his  regiment 
Colonel  Hilton  of  St  Ann’s  Western  Eegiment,  not 
exactly  for  being  a member  and  leading  spirit  in 
the  Colonial  Church  Union,  but  because  he,  the 
colonel  of  a regiment  of  militia,  had  dared  to  put 
his  name  to  resolutions  censuring  the  conduct  of 
the  Captain -General — the  Earl  of  Mulgrave — upon 
a most  important  point  of  military  discipline.  “ He 


“YOUR  COMMISSION  IS  CANCELLED” 


255 


has  no  choice/’  wrote  the  Governor’s  secretary,  ‘‘but 
to  remove  you  from  the  command  of  the  St  Ann’s 
Western  Regiment ; and  I have  therefore  received 
his  commands  to  notify  you  that  your  commission 
is  accordingly  cancelled.”  And  the  letter  is  addressed 
“James  L.  Hilton,  Esq.,  St  Ann’s.” 

We  can  imagine  the  slap  in  the  face  this  must 
have  been  to  the  planters.  The  Governor  himself, 
who  should  have  upheld  the  ruling  classes  in  every- 
thing, actually  ranging  himself  with  dissenters, 
dissenting  parsons  and  slaves ! That  is  what  James 
Hilton  and  men  of  his  ilk  doubtless  said  to  each 
other  over  their  rum  punch,  when  a royal  proclama- 
tion was  issued  declaring  the  Colonial  Church  Union 
to  be  an  illegal  association.  But  the  Governor  stuck 
to  his  point,  a circular  was  addressed  to  the  custodes, 
the  chief  magistrates  of  each  parish,  calling  upon 
them  to  do  their  duty,  and  he  expressed  his  deter- 
mination to  deprive  those  who  continued  to  adhere 
to  the  Union  of  all  appointments  they  might  hold 
under  the  Crown ; also  declaring  that  neither  actual 
violence  towards  missionaries,  nor  a repetition  of 
illegal  threats  would  be  allowed  to  pass  unpunished. 

But  the  Colonial  Church  Union  had  many  friends. 
I can  quite  see  those  planters  meeting  and  cursing 
the  foolishness  of  the  Governor,  who  actually  inter- 
fered on  behalf  of  these  unspeakable  dissenting 
parsons.  They  said  he  could  not  possibly  under- 
stand in  what  manner  the  chapel  preachers  upset 
the  negroes.  The  man  who  took  the  command  of 
the  St  Ann’s  Regiment  in  place  of  Mr  Hilton,  a 
Mr  Hamilton  Brown,  at  the  first  muster  declared 
in  emphatic  language  he  was  in  entire  agreement 
with  their  late  colonel.  He  was  sure  that  not  only 
the  regiment,  but  everyone  in  the  island  whose  opinion 
was  worth  having  would  be  with  him. 


256 


THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 


He  reckoned  without  his  host. 

“Lieut. -Col.  Brown  was  on  the  ground  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment,”  says  Madden,  writing 
of  the  Colonial  Chmxh  Union — and  Madden  was 
one  of  the  special  magistrates  sent  out  at  the 
Abolition,  a particularly  fair  and  farseeing  man, 
“ when  the  Governor,  Lord  Mulgrave  arrived. 
His  Lordship  addressed  the  regiment,  and  Lieut. -Col. 
Brown  was  ordered  by  him  to  sheath  his  sword 
and  consider  himself  removed  from  the  regiment. 
Upon  his  dismissal  three-fourths  of  the  regiment 
broke  and  quitted  the  ranks ; some  of  the  officers 
tore  off  their  epaulets  and  trampled  on  them ; the 
men  were  however  re-collected  in  the  ranks  and 
marched  past  in  review  order  under  the  command 
of  the  officer  next  in  rank  not,  however,  without 
every  attempt,  by  persuasion  and  abuse  alternately 
from  the  mutinous  officers,  to  induce  the  men  to 
refuse  to  perform  their  duty.  A stone  of  large 
size  was  thrown  at  the  Governor,  which  fortunately 
fell  short  of  his  person ; the  officer,  however,  who 
was  charged  with  this  disgraceful  outrage  denied 
having  committed  it,  and  no  further  investigation 
took  place.  Thus  ended  the  memorable  reHew  at 
Huntly  Pastures.” 

It  was  not  only  the  officers  of  the  St  Ann's 
Eegiment  who  were  in  agreement  with  the  Colonial 
Church  Union,  for  they  say  that  actually  eleven 
magistrates  were  dismissed  before  its  power  was 
broken. 

I suppose  they  held  the  last  redoubt  in  the  cause 
of  slaver}’.  And  Jamaica  must  have  been  rather  an 
exciting  place  to  live  in  while  that  last  defence  was 
held.  The  slave-holders  were  all  the  more  bitter 
that  their  power  was  slipping  from  them,  and  it 
was  some  little  time  before  the  dissenting  ministers 


A BRAVE  CUSTOS 


257 

were  allowed  to  preach  as  they  wished  and  without 
interference.  Some  of  the  custodes  had  a hard  time 
protecting  them.  Many  of  them  asked  for  trouble. 

A Mr  Greenwood  applied  at  the  Quarter  Sessions 
of  the  Parish  of  St  Ann  to  take  the  oaths.  The 
custos  was  S.  M.  Barrett,  and  there  was  a big 
assembly  in  the  Courthouse,  a large  number  of 
persons  being  connected  with  the  former  Church 
Union.  No  sooner  did  Mr  Greenwood  make  his 
appearance  in  the  Court  than  there  was  a loud 
uproar.  These  angry  gentlemen  vented  their  wrath 
upon  him. 

‘‘Methodist  parson  among  us!”  they  shouted. 
“Turn  him  out!  Turn  him  out!  We  will  have 
no  Methodists  here ! ” They  were  on  their  own 
ground.  One  magistrate  shouted : “ I protected 
one  of  the  wretehes  before  at  the  hazard  of  my 
life ! I will  not  protect  this  one ! ” And  Mr 
Hamilton  Brown,  his  dismissal  from  his  regiment 
still  rankling,  called  upon  the  custos  “to  order 
Mr  Greenwood  out  of  the  Courthouse  forthwith ! 
Forthwith ! ” 

But  the  custos  was  made  of  sterner  stuff. 
Though  without  sympathy  for  the  preacher,  he 
declared  he  was  going  to  administer  the  law  without 
respect  of  persons. 

“So  long  as  a doubt  remained  as  to  what  law 
or  laws  were  in  force  here  affecting  dissenters, 
I have  allowed  all  the  advantages  of  that  uncertainty 
to  popular  prejudice ; but  now  that  it  has  been 
shown  and  decided  that  the  Toleration  Act  is  in 
force  in  this  island,  I am  bound,  it  is  imperative 
on  me,  to  admit  Mr  Greenwood  to  qualify  and  take 
the  oaths.” 

But  his  listeners  would  not  believe  him. 

They  shouted,  “It  has  never  been  decided.”  In 


258  THE  MAKING  OF  CHRISTIANS 

fact  they  didn't  like  the  Methodists,  and  finally,  each 
one  feeling  the  support  of  his  fellows,  it  came  to 
“We  set  the  law  at  defiance!" 

At  the  hazard  of  his  own  life  that  custos  defended 
the  parson  of  whom  he  disapproved  highly,  and 
finally,  getting  open  the  door  of  the  room  of  the 
grand  jury,  he  advised  the  minister  to  escape  through 
the  window,  for  he  could  no  longer  defend  him ! 

I like  this  story.  It  must  have  been  such  a 
stirring  scene.  It  is  told  by  Bleby  to  illustrate  the 
brutality  of  the  planters.  We  of  another  age  can 
look  on  with  a smile,  as  elders  smile  at  and  enjoy 
the  fallings  out  of  children.  The  riot  was  brought 
to  the  notice  of  the  Governor,  who  promptly  ordered 
an  investigation,  which  led  to  a prosecution  of  Messrs 
Brown  and  Rose,  two  of  the  principal  leaders,  a 
prosecution  and  a triumph ; for  the  grand  jury 
acquitted  them  I doubt  not  as  planters  who  had 
upheld  waning  rights  and  were  worthy  of  all  the 
honour  their  fellows  could  give  them.  I expect 
they  all  thought  things  would  be  better  in  the 
future,  and  their  sons  would  see  their  actions 
justified. 

But  things  were  nearing  the  end.  The  long,  long 
martyrdom  of  slavery  was  drawing  to  a close.  In 
a few  short  months  came  Abolition,  and  the  slave 
was  free  to  worship  when  and  where  he  chose. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 

The  freeing  of  the  slaves  came  in  the  second  quarter 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Think  of  it,  not  ninety 
years  ago  ! And  a short  time  before  Matthew  Lewis 
wrote — 

‘‘The  higher  classes  are  in  the  utmost  alarm  at 
rumours  of  Wilberforce’s  intention  to  set  the  negroes 
entirely  free ; the  next  step  to  which  would  be  in 
all  probability  a general  massacre  of  the  whites, 
and  a second  edition  of  the  horrors  of  St  Domingo.’’ 

It  must  have  been  with  some  misgivings  then, 
that  the  great  day  dawned  when  the  slaves  were 
not  exactly  set  free,  but  made  apprentices  for  a short 
time  to  accustom  them  to  this  new-found  freedom. 

And  the  apprenticeship  seems  to  have  been  a 
ghastly  failure.  It  took  away  from  the  slave  the 
protection  of  the  well-meaning  master  who  could 
not  afford  to  spend  lavishly  upon  property,  to  whose 
services  in  a very  short  time  he  would  have  no  right, 
and  it  left  him  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  man  who 
had  no  conscience,  and  who  simply  set  out  to  get 
as  much  as  he  could  out  of  the  slave  while  he  was 
in  his  power. 

Even  England  was  doubtful  as  to  the  effect  of 
her  step,  and  she  sent  out  certain  magistrates  who 
were  looked  upon  with  suspicion  by  the  planter,  and 
only  by  definitely  siding  with  the  white  man  in  all 

259 


260 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 


disputes  were  they  agreeable  to  the  ruling  classes. 
A Dr  Madden  is  one  of  these,  and  his  description  of 
life  in  Jamaica  is  graphic,  though  when  I read 
how  he  had  to  part  with  his  little  boy,  whose  life 
he  dared  not  risk  in  so  perilous  a climate,  and  then 
of  the  long  voyage  to  the  other  end  of  the  earth,  I 
see  how  far  those  ninety  years  have  taken  us. 

Lady  Nugent,  writing  about  a quarter  of  a century 
before,  was  great  on  the  deadly  climate  of  Jamaica. 
She  goes  to  Moneymusk,  which  then  belonged  to  a 
widow,  with  whom  were  staying  two  other  ladies, 
also  widows.  “Alas,”  writes  Lady  Nugent,  “how 
often  in  this  country  do  we  see  these  unfortunate 
beings.”  (Mrs  Sympson  of  Moneymusk  doesn’t  seem 
to  have  deserved  this  epithet.  The  estate  was 
managed  by  her,  and  apparently  well  managed.) 
“Women  rarely  lose  their  health,  but  men  as  rarely 
kept  theirs.”  She  doesn’t  put  tw^o  and  two  together, 
though  she  is  always  referring  to  poor  Jamaica  as 
“this  horrid  country,”  “this  deceitful,  dreadful 
climate.”  Certainly  the  number  of  deaths  among 
those  around  her,  presumably  her  friends,  was  a 
little  appalling.  But  considering  that  she  herself 
called  attention  to  the  way  the  people  ate — and 
drank — I don’t  know  why  she  should  have  blamed 
the  climate. 

Things  hadn’t  improved  when  Madden  came  on 
the  scene  nearly  a generation  later.  The  amount 
of  drink  a gentleman  consumed  at  dinner  was 
astonishing. 

“ Half  a bottle  of  Madera  or  so,”  he  ^mtes 
sarcastically,  “can  never  do  a man  any  harm  in  a 
hot  climate,  and  sangaree  and  brandy  and  water  are 
all  necessary  to  keep  up  his  strength,  for  people  of 
all  countries  are  the  best  judges  of  the  mode  of 
living  in  their  own  climate.” 


COME  TO  SCOFF  AND  REMAINED  TO  PRAY  261 

This  kindly  magistrate  took  too  much  interest 
in  the  slave  to  have  been  quite  acceptable  to  the 
planter  of  that  day,  who  seems  still  to  have  regarded 
the  negro  as  belonging  to  a lower  order  of  creation 
and  liked  to  feel  that  he — the  negro — owed  all  benefits 
to  the  kindly  indulgence  of  his  master. 

He  attended  on  one  occasion  a Baptist  chapel 
in  Kingston  where  the  minister  was  a negro 
of  the  name  of  Kellick — A pious,  well-behaved, 
honest  man,  who  in  point  of  intelligence  and  the 
application  of  scriptural  knowledge  to  the  ordinary 
duties  of  his  calling  and  the  business  of  life,  might 
stand  a comparison  with  many  more  highly  favoured, 
by  the  advantages  of  their  education  and  standing  in 
society.  I vras  first  induced  to  attend  this  man  s 
chapel  from  motives  of  curiosity,  not  unmixed  I fear 
with  feelings  of  contempt  for  its  black  parson ; I 
confess  after  I had  heard  him  for  a short  while 
expound  the  scriptures,  and  prescribe  to  his  congrega- 
tion (all  of  whom  were  negroes  like  himself)  on  their 
duties  as  Christian  subjects  and  members  of  society, 
and  then  his  earnest  and  humble  petition  to  the 
Almighty  for  a blessing  on  his  little  flock,  and  the 
hymn  which  closed  the  service,  in  which  the  con- 
gregation joined  in  one  loud  but  very  far  indeed 
from  discordant  strain,  I felt,  if  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  religious  worship  were  wanting  here 
to  enlist  the  senses  on  the  side  of  devotion,  there 
were  motives  in  this  place,  and  an  influence  in  the 
ministry  of  this  man  (however  he  might  have  been 
called  to  it,  or  by  what  forms  fitted  for  its  duties) 
which  were  calculated  to  induce  the  white  man  who 
came  to  scofiP  to  remain  to  pray.” 

This  of  a man  who  but  quite  recently  must  have 
risen  from  slavery.  He  received  from  the  contribu- 
tions of  his  congregation  about  £100  a year,  which 

s 


262 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLA\T: 


it  was  understood  was  for  the  upkeep  of  the  chapel 
as  well.  Madden  thought  it  very  little,  but  Madden 
is  a nice  man  with  large  ideas,  and  I feel  sure  the 
Eev.  Kellick  was  not  only  quite  satisfied  with  what 
he  received,  but  intensely  proud  of  the  position  he 
held.  As  indeed  he  had  every  right  to  be.  He  had 
come  a long,  long  way  by  a very  thorny  path. 

Madden  gives  the  usual  account  of  the  negroes. 
“ Generally  speaking,  the  negroes  of  the  present  day 
have  all  the  vices  of  slaves.  It  cannot  be  denied  that 
they  are  addicted  to  lying,  prone  to  dissimulation, 
and  inclined  to  dishonestv.  ...”  Now  what  else  I 
wonder  did  they  expect  of  a slave.  But  he  goes  on 
to  say  that  in  the  late  rebellion — of  1831-32 — “In  no 
instance  did  the  negro  swerve  from  his  fidelity  to 
his  comrades ; in  not  a single  instance  was  the  name 
of  the  real  author  of  that  rebellion  disclosed.  I 
venture  to  intimate  that  even  the  rebellious  negro 
has  a sentiment  of  honom'  in  his  breast  when  he 
encounters  death  rather  than  betray  one  of  his 
accomplices.  I hazard  an  opinion  that  humanity 
has  its  impulses  in  his  heart,  when  he  shelters  his 
fugitive  countryman,  and  shares  his  last  morsel  of 
bread  with  him  rather  than  turn  the  outlaw  from  his 
door,  and  save  himself  from  the  fearful  consequences 
of  harbouring  a runaway.” 

It  seems  strange  that  ninety  years  ago  it  had  to 
be  explained  to  the  civilised  world  that  the  negro 
was  like  other  men,  capable  of  great  heights  and 
abominable  depths.  That  a little  more  than  a 
hundred  years  ago,  so  great  was  the  prejudice  against 
colour  that  a man  whose  grandmother  had  been  a 
negress  was  not  allowed  to  be  a constable,  could  not 
inherit  property  beyond  the  value  of  £1200  sterling, 
nor  give  evidence  in  crimioal  cases. 

“It  was  the  fashion,”  writes  Madden,  “to  regard 


COLOURED  MASTER  AND  WHITE  SERVANT  263 

him  with  jealousy  and  distrust,  as  a rebel  in  disguise, 
who  was  to  be  branded  as  such  on  all  plausible 
occasions.” 

But  though  the  laws  might  prevent  a coloured 
man  from  inheriting  money,  they  did  not  prevent  his 
making  it,  and  when  he  himself  became  a slave  owner 
a very  curious  state  of  affairs  arose.  The  danger  of 
slave  risings  was  always  present,  and  the  coloured 
planters  like  the  white  had  to  have  on  their  estates 
“ deficiency  men,”  white  men,  one  for  every  ten  slaves. 
But  so  strong  was  the  feeling  on  the  question 
of  colour  that  these  men  whom  their  necessities 
compelled  to  take  service  with  the  sons  or  grandsons 
of  slaves,  declined  to  sit  at  meat  with  them.  The 
owner  had  to  have  a side  table  set  for  himself,  while 
his  white  servants  sat  at  the  principal  one. 

And  the  coloured  people  came  into  existence  so 
naturally. 

At  first,  as  we  have  seen,  many  of  the  planters  for 
very  good  reasons  never  brought  their  wives  to  their 
estates.  Then  again,  overseers,  book-keepers,  and 
other  employees  could  not  afford  to  marry ; they  came 
to  the  country,  and  there  were  many  it  was  said 
at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  who  might  be 
in  the  country  over  a dozen  years  without  ever 
speaking  to  a white  woman.  What  more  natural 
than  that  they  should  form  alliances  with  the  good- 
looking  daughters  of  the  slaves  who  were  under  them. 
Such  connections  were  looked  upon  with  approval  by 
the  owners  and  attorneys.  A white  man  was  always 
bothered  to  take  a wife,  at  least  so  I gather  from 
the  perusal  of  old  stories  of  Jamaica. 

'‘Why  massa  no  take  him  one  wife  like  oder 
buckras  ? Dere  is  little  Daphne  would  make  him  one 
good  wife — dere  is  one  Diana — dere  is  little  Venus — 
dere  is  him  Mary  Magalene,  an’  dere  is  him  Phoebe.” 


264  THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 

Sometimes  it  was  the  other  way  round  and  he 
couldn't  get  a wife,  for  if  there  was  a prejudice  against 
a man  the  word  went  forth  in  the  slave  quarters,  and 
not  a girl  would  look  at  him. 

Very  naturally  being  Christians  did  not  affect 
this  relationship.  No  white  man  would  really  marry 
a dark  girl  were  she  beautiful  as  the  rising  dawn. 
A white  lover  meant  advancement  in  a coloured 
girl’s  world,  and  she  in  her  turn  often  gained  great 
influence  over  the  man  who  had  chosen  her.  Indeed 
the  majority  of  these  women  were  faithful,  tender 
and  loving.  They  were  not  always  the  wisest  of 
housekeepers,  I am  afraid — how  should  they  be — and 
the  Great  House  so  managed  was  apt  to  'be  dirty, 
untidy,  wasteful,  slatternly.  Its  mistress  had  never 
seen  anything  better,  had  seldom  had  a chance 
to  train. 

The  position  grew  to  be  accepted  as  the  best 
for  a coloured  girl,  infinitely  preferable  to  that  of 
matrimony  with  one  of  her  own  shade.  There  was 
no  loss  of  caste,  indeed  the  girl  gained  by  being 
associated  with  the  white  man.  It  came  to  be 
that  the  man  would  give  a bond  to  pay  down  a 
certain  sum  upon  his  marrying  or  leaving  the 
island  to  the  girl  he  had  chosen  for  his  temporary 
mate,  and  it  not  infrequently  happened  that  this 
sum  was  so  great  that  he  was  virtually  unable  ever 
to  leave  her.  They  say  that  many  a coloured  man 
made  such  a bargain  for  his  daughter. 

But  this  was  in  the  days  when  life  was  easier 
for  the  slave,  when  a coloured  man  had  some  rights, 
even  though  no  white  man  would  sit  at  meat  with 
him  or  marry  his  daugliter. 

It  was  sometimes  very  liard  on  the  children  of 
such  alliances.  Madden  gives  a vivid  account  of  a 
visit  he  paid  to  an  estate  that  had  belonged  to  an 


GONE  TO  WRACK  AND  RUIN  265 

uncle  of  his,  and  that  had  been  mismanaged  an(i 
gone  to  wrack  and  ruin. 

‘‘  I arrived  at  the  ruined  works  of  Marly  after 
a fatiguing  ride  of  five  hours  in  the  wildest  district 
of  St  Mary’s  Mountains,”  he  writes.  ‘‘  The  dwelling- 
house  was  situated  on  a mountain  eminence  ” (they 
always  are)  '‘about  two  hundred  feet  above  the 
works,  the  remains  of  a little  garden  that  had  pro- 
bably been  planted  by  the  old  proprietor  was  still 
visible  on  the  only  level  spot  in  front  of  the  house, 
a few  fruit  trees  only  remained,  but  it  seemed 
from  the  place  that  had  been  enclosed,  and  was 
marked  by  a long  line  of  scattered  stones,  the 
soil  that  was  now  covered  with  weeds  had  been 
formerly  laid  out  in  flower  plots.  In  going  from 
the  ruined  works  to  the  house,  I missed  my  road 
amidst  the  rank  verdure  which  nearly  obliterated 
every  trace  of  a path ; so  that  I traversed  a con- 
siderable part  of  the  property  without  meeting  a 
human  being.  The  negro  huts  at  some  distance 
from  the  house  were  all  uninhabited ; the  roofs  of 
them  had  tumbled  in,  and  had  the  appearance  of 
being  long  unoccupied.  The  negro  boy  who  accom- 
panied me  was  very  anxious  for  me  to  return  to 
Claremont,  and  said  it  was  no  good  to  walk  about 
such  a place,  buckras  all  dead,  niggers  all  dead  too, 
no  one  lived  there  but  duppies  and  Obeah  men. 
It  was  certainly  as  suitable  a place  for  such  folk 
as  one  could  well  imagine.  I proceeded,  however, 
to  the  house  and  went  through  the  ceremony  of 
knocking  at  the  door,  but  received  no  answer;  the 
door  was  ajar  and  I took  the  liberty  of  walking 
into  the  house  of  my  old  uncle. 

The  room  I entered  was  in  keeping  with  the 
condition  of  the  exterior,  every  plank  in  the  naked 
room  was  crumbling  to  decay.  I opened  one  of 


266  THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 

the  side  doors,  and,  to  my  great  surprise,  I per- 
ceived two  women  as  white  as  any  inhabitants  of 
any  southern  climates,  and  tolerably  well  clad, 
standing  at  an  opposite  window,  evidently  alarmed 
at  my  intrusion.  I soon  explained  to  them  the 
nature  of  my  visit,  and  requested  permission  to 
rest  for  a short  time  after  my  fatiguing  journey. 
In  a few  minutes  two  other  young  females  and  a 
very  old  mulatto  woman  of  a bright  complexion 
made  their  appearance  from  an  adjoining  room, 
and  what  was  my  surprise  at  learning  that  the  two 
youngest  were  the  natural  daughters  of  Mr  Gordon, 
the  person  who  purchased  the  property  out  of 
Chancery,  the  two  others,  the  daughters  of  my 
uncle,  Mr  Theodosius  Lyons,  and  the  old  woman 
their  mother ! The  eldest  of  her  daughters  was 
about  forty  years  of  age,  the  other  probably  a year 
or  two  younger ; and  the  resemblance  of  one  of 
them  to  some  members  of  my  family  was  so  strik- 
ing that  the  moment  her  name  was  mentioned  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  her  origin.  The 
poor  women  were  delighted  to  see  a person  who 
called  himself  a relation  of  their  father;  but  with 
the  feeling  there  was  evidently  a good  deal  of 
suspicion  mingled  as  to  the  motives  of  my  visit, 
and  of  apprehensions  that  I had  come  there  for 
the  purpose  of  taking  possession  of  the  property; 
and  all  I could  say  to  remove  this  impression  was 
certainly  thrown  away,  on  the  old  woman  at  least. 

I do  not  wonder  at  it,  for  they  had  received 
nothing  but  bad  treatment  from  those  who  ought 
to  have  been  kind  to  them,  as  well  as  from 
strangers  for  nearly  forty  years  since  the  death 
of  their  natural  protector,  who  dying  suddenly  left 
them  utterly  unprovided  for.  They  were  left  free, 
but  that  was  all.  One  son,  however,  was  not  left 


SOLD  WITH  REST  OF  MOVABLE  PROPERTY  267 

free;  and  that  young  man  was  sold  with  the  rest 
of  the  movable  property  of  the  estate  when  it  was 
sold  in  Chancery.  The  aged  and  infirm  negroes 
were  then  left  on  the  estate ; but  a few  years  ago 
these  poor  creatures  who  had  grown  old  on  the 
property  and  had  expended  the  strength  of  their 
young  days  on  its  cultivation,  and  who  imagined 
that  they  would  have  been  allowed  to  have  laid 
their  bones  where  their  friends  and  relatives  were 
buried,  were  carried  away  by  the  creditors  and 
actually  sold  for  three  or  four  dollars  a head.” 
‘"Who,”  Madden  asks,  ‘‘in  the  face  of  such 
circumstances  as  these  will  tell  me  that  slavery  in 
these  colonies  was  productive  of  no  oppression  in 
recent  times,  or  was  the  occasion  of  no  injustices  ? ” 
He  dilates  on  the  undoubted  fact  that  many  a 
West  Indian  proprietor  could  not  be  got  to  look 
upon  Jamaica  as  his  home.  He  wanted  to  get  as 
much  money  as  he  could  out  of  the  estate,  and 
then  to  retire  to  his  native  land.  So  all  improve- 
ments were  grudged,  “The  Great  House  fell  into 
decay,  the  roads  were  left  without  any  adequate 
repair,  the  plantation  was  cultivated  for  its  present 
advantages  and  without  regard  for  its  prospective 
ones;  and  the  system  of  labour  exacted  from  the 
negroes  was  productive  of  circumstances,  which  the 
proprietor  considered  in  combination  with  the  other 
discomforts  of  his  situation,  were  unsuitable  to  the 
condition  of  a woman  of  refinement  accustomed  to  the 
enjoyments  of  English  society.” 

He  speaks  very  highly  of  the  coloured  mistresses ; 
although  he  deplores  such  connections,  and  says : 
“ They  cannot  be  defended,  but  I think  the  victims 
of  the  state  of  things  which  led  to  them  are  more 
deserving  of  pity  than  of  reproach.  I do  not 
remember  to  have  heard  of  the  fidelity  of  anyone 


268 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 


of  these  persons  being  called  into  question.  In 
the  periods  of  their  prosperity  they  know  their 
situation,  and  demean  themselves  accordingly.  In 
their  adversity,  when  death  or  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ments deprive  them  of  the  protection  they  may  have 
had  for  many  years,  their  industry  and  frugality 
deserve  the  highest  praise.” 

The  1st  of  August  1834,  the  day  when  the 
slaves  passed  from  slavery  to  a position  of  apprentice- 
ship, was  looked  forward  to  in  Jamaica  with  dread 
on  the  part  of  the  whites,  and,  says  Madden,  with 
extravagant  hopes  by  the  blacks.  But  it  passed. 
The  servile  race  made  one  little  step  upward,  and 
not  a single  riot  occurred  in  the  island,  ‘‘not  a 
single  man,  woman  or  child  was  butchered  to  make 
a negro  holiday.”  As  a matter  of  fact,  the  negroes 
went  to  church. 

“I  visited  three  of  the  sectarian  chapels  on  the 
1st  of  August,”  says  Madden,  “ during  the  morning, 
mid-day,  and  evening  services;  and  I was  greatly 
gratified  at  the  pains  that  were  taken  to  make  the 
negroes  sensible  of  the  nature  of  the  change  that 
had  taken  place  in  their  condition,  and  the  great 
benefits  they  had  to  show  their  gratitude  for,  under 
Him  Who  had  brought  them  out  of  bondage,  to 
their  benefactors  both  at  home  and  in  England, 
who  expected  of  them  to  be  good  Christians,  good 
citizens,  and  good  servants.” 

He  does  indeed  recall  one  little  incident.  A 
drunken  sailor  was  tormented  by  some  small  black 
boys.  They  threw  stones  at  him,  and  as  he  reeled 
after  them  they  scampered  away,  shouting  most 
lustily  to  each  other. 

“What  for  you  run  away?  We  all  free  now. 
Buckra  can't  catch  we.  Hurra  for  fuss  of  Augus! 
hi ! hi ! fuss  of  Augus  ! hurra  for  fuss  of  Augus  ! ” 


THE  PENALTY  FOR  FALSE  SWEARING  269 

On  that  night,  too,  there  was  a grand  ball  given 
by  the  black  and  brown  people,  to  which  the  General 
and  his  Staff  were  invited.  ‘‘Miss  Quashaba, 
belonging  to  Mr  C.,  led  off  with  Mr  Cupid,  belonging 
to  Mr  M.,  while  Mrs  Juno,  belonging  to  Mr  P., 
received  the  blacks  and  buckras.’’ 

It  took  a long  while  to  shake  off  the  shackles. 

Besides,  we  must  never  forget  there  was  a kindly 
side  to  slavery.  Many  of  the  white  people  took 
a great  interest  in  their  slaves,  and  at  the  slave 
balls  many  a slave  girl  was  decked  out  in  her 
mistress's  j ewels.  Indeed,  there  was  much  competition 
among  the  ladies  as  to  whose  waiting-maid  should 
make  the  best  show. 

They  received  instruction,  too,  these  slaves,  and 
sometimes  the  instruction  given  was  extraordinary 
enough.  Madden  tells  how  on  one  occasion  a girl 
was  brought  before  him  to  give  evidence  against 
a fellow  apprentice.  He  asked  if  she  knew  the 
nature  of  an  oath,  and  her  mistress  was  a little 
hurt  that  a girl  of  seventeen,  who  had  been  in  her 
charge  for  so  long,  should  be  asked  such  a question. 
Nevertheless,  he  persisted  in  asking  the  question, 
and  the  girl  replied,  to  the  no  small  discomfiture  of 
her  mistress  and  the  surprise  of  the  crowded  Court — 
“Massa,  if  me  swear  false  my  belly  would  burst, 
my  face  would  be  scratched,  and  my  fingers  would 
drop  off ! ” And  Madden  dismissed  the  case  for 
want  of  better  testimony,  though  really,  I think, 
if  the  girl  feared  such  unpleasant  things  would 
happen  to  her  if  she  lied,  he  might  have  trusted 
her  to  tell  the  truth.  But  that,  I am  aware,  is  a 
very  modern  view. 

Slavery  was  abolished  for  good  and  all  in  1838. 
The  intention,  when  Madden  came  to  the  island, 
was  to  abolish  it  in  1840,  but  the  apprenticeship 


270 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 


which  was  substituted  seems  to  have  been  very 
unsatisfactory,  and  I have  read  books  by  Quaker 
and  Baptist  missionaries  which  are  full  of  the 
suffering  of  the  freed  slaves  under  these  conditions. 
Up  till  1734  the  owners  had  the  right  to  punish 
their  slaves  by  mutilation,  which,  of  course,  often 
meant  death,  but  though  it  was  abolished,  there  are 
many  ways,  as  we  have  seen,  of  making  the  life  of 
a slave  unbearable.  If  the  apprentice  did  not  please 
his  master  he  sent  him  to  the  nearest  workhouse, 
and  many  are  the  ghastly  tales  of  the  tired  men 
and  women  worked  in  the  tread-mill.  It  takes  a 
long,  long  while  for  mercy  and  pity  and  kindly 
friendliness  to  make  its  way. 

Madden  shows  us  too  a side  of  slavery  which 
I confess  had  not  struck  me. 

‘‘The  law,  as  it  now  stands,’'  he  writes,  “does 
permit  the  father  to  hold  his  own  son  in  bondage, 
and  the  son  to  demand  the  wages  of  slavery  from 
his  own  mother,  and  to  claim  the  services  of  his 
own  sister  as  his  bondswoman.  These  horrors  are 
not  merely  possible  contingencies  that  may  be 
heard  of  occasionally ; they  are  actual  occurrences, 
two  of  which  came  before  me  within  the  last  three 
months. 

A Jew  of  this  town  had  a young  mulatto  man 
taken  up  for  refusing  to  pay  wages.  It  turned  out 
that  these  wages  were  demanded  from  his  own  son, 
his  child  by  one  of  his  negro  slaves.  ...  I most 
reluctantly  fixed  for  that  obdurate  father  the  wages 
of  a son’s  slavery,  but  in  amount  the  lowest  sum 
I had  ever  ordered.” 

And  it  was  not  always  the  whites  who  were 
the  unkind  and  grasping  masters.  A free  black 
came  before  him  on  one  occasion,  claiming  the 
services  of  a runaway  slave  and  her  four  children. 


A DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT 


271 


She  had  been  absent  for  many  months,  and  in 
support  of  his  claim  the  plaintiff  adduced  the  fact 
that  she  was  his  sister,  the  daughter  of  his  own 
mother,  and  that  both  mother  and  daughter  had 
been  bequeathed  to  him,  and  the  mother  had  died 
in  slavery.  The  astonished  magistrate  puts  it  on 
record  that  he  could  hardly  believe  his  own  ears. 
Only,  unfortunately,  there  was  no  manner  of  doubt 
as  to  the  legality  of  his  claim. 

But  Madden  was  something  of  a Solomon.  He 
told  the  woman  she  must  prepare  to  go  back,  they 
were  all  slaves,  or  at  least  apprentices  except  the 
youngest,  who  was  not  six  years  of  age,  but  he 
would  defer  giving  his  decision  for  a couple  of  days, 
.so  that  as  many  of  the  coloured  population  of 
Kingston  as  possible  might  be  afforded  the  oppor- 
tunity of  witnessing  the  event.  The  claimant  in 
vain  protested  that  he  was  quite  willing  to  receive 
back  his  slaves  without  any  such  public  ceremony, 
but  the  magistrate  was  adamant.  He  assured  the 
claimant  that  no  pains  would  be  spared  to  give 
the  decision  in  his  favour  all  the  solemnity  which 
the  utmost  publicity  could  give  it.  There  was  such 
a buzz  of  approval  in  the  Court  that  the  master 
was  in  little  doubt  as  to  what  would  happen  a couple 
of  days  later,  so  he  said  he  thought  of  giving  the 
woman  her  liberty,  or  at  any  rate  allowing  her 
to  buy  it  at  a very  low  rate,  but  the  children  he 
would  have,  and  no  price  would  induce  him  to 
relinquish  his  claim  to  them.  The  poor  mother 
looked  the  picture  of  despair.  He  should  have 
them,  declared  the  just  magistrate ; it  should  be 
out  of  the  power  of  any  human  being  in  Jamaica 
for  the  future  to  dispute  his  claim  or  to  call  in 
question  the  title  by  which  he  had  held  his  own 
mother  in  slavery  till  the  day  of  her  death.  The 


272  THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLA\T 

Court  was  with  the  magistrate  and  against  the 
black  slave-holder,  for  at  last  he  said  in  a low  tone 
he  would  give  his  sister  her  freedom,  and  Madden 
promptly  drew  up  the  manumission  paper.  But 
when  the  black  man  read  it  over  he  refused  to 
sign.  Madden  made  a dramatic  scene  of  it.  He 
knew  he  had  the  sympathy  of  the  Court  for  the 
woman. 

“I  was  in  the  act  of  tearing  up  the  document 
when  the  audible  groans  of  his  own  people  inducetl 
him  again  to  take  the  paper.  I allowed  myself  to 
be  persuaded  to  let  him  have  it — the  paper  was 
in  his  hand — humanity  did  not  guide  it  but  shame 
did — he  signed  the  paper,  and  never  was  there 
a manumission  performed  with  so  bad  a grace.” 

The  man  still  claimed  the  children,  but  he  had 
to  deal  with  not  only  a very  kindly  man,  but  a 
very  wise  one,  whose  heart  was  full  of  pity  for 
the  poor  mother,  who  evidently  had  no  faith  in  the 
kindliness  of  her  brother.  The  two  little  boys, 
mulattoes  of  seven  and  eight — the  oldest  the  man 
had  already — clung  terrified  to  their  mother,  and 
the  magistrate  had  them  and  the  complainant  placed 
before  the  bench  “ to  prevent  any  sudden  disappear- 
ance.” Then,  with  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  he 
began  to  praise  this  man's  generosity,  “to  extol 
his  humanity  and  to  put  his  heart  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  itself,”  and  finally  he  got  the  freedom  of 
those  two  little  children.  Clever,  kind,  Dr  Madden  ! 

In  contrast  to  this  black  man  he  tells  the  story 
of  a Mr  Anderson,  from  whom  he  desired  to  buy 
the  freedom  of  a slave,  an  Arabic  scholar,  a man 
who  had  come  from  the  hinterland  of  the  Guinea 
Coast,  from  Timbuctoo,  was  well  boro,  and  had  had 
such  an  education  as  that  town  afforded.  Madden 
hoped  to  raise  the  money  by  public  subscription. 


A VERY  EXCEPTIONAL  MAN  273 

for  he  could  not  afford  it  himself,  for  this  was  a 
very  exceptional  man,  worth  over  £300. 

Say  no  more,”  said  his  master  at  once.  The  man 
had  been  a good  servant  to  him — a faithful  and  a 
good  negro — and  he  would  take  no  money  for  him 
— he  would  give  him  his  liberty  ! 

‘‘  I pressed  him  to  name  any  reasonable  sum  for 
his  release  but  he  positively  refused  to  receive 
one  farthing  in  the  way  of  indemnity  for  the  loss 
of  that  man’s  services  ! ” 

It  is  refreshing  to  read  such  a story. 

How  much  slavery  was  liked  we  may  judge  from 
the  fact  that  even  now  with  freedom  within  a few 
years  of  them — six  at  the  very  most — many  a slave 
was  anxious  to  purchase  his  freedom  from  the 
apprenticeship  system.  He  had  to  apply  to  the 
special  justice,  and  he  called  upon  the  master  to 
appoint  a local  magistrate,  and  the  two  magistrates 
meeting,  named  a third,  who  must  also  be  a local 
magistrate,  two  for  the  master  and  one  for  the 
slave ; and  then  according  to  the  age,  sex,  health, 
and  occupation  of  the  slave  in  question  they  decided 
his  value.  The  amount  to  be  adjudicated  was  left 
entirely  to  the  discretion  of  the  magistrates  without 
reference  to  any  scale  of  valuation,  and  in  some 
instances  the  valuation  rose  to  £170  ‘‘a  sum  which 
no  negro  certainly  has  sold  for  for  many  a long 
year  in  Jamaica,”  says  Madden. 

As  a rule,  according  to  Madden,  the  value  of  a 
slave  did  not  run  so  high.  He  says,  in  all  eighty 
apprentices  obtained  their  freedom  before  him  either 
by  valuation  or  by  mutual  agreement,  and  the  average 
valuation  was  £25.  It  does  not  seem  much  for  the 
services  of  a man,  even  if  it  were  only  for  four 
years.  In  one  instance,  a tradesman  was  valued 
at  £80,  but  as  a rule  the  price  ranged  between 


274 


THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 


£16  and  £35.  Madden  says  he  attended  a great 
many  slave  sales,  and  has  never  seen  a negro  sell 
for  more  than  £30. 

When  slaves  were  condemned  to  death  for  any 
offences,  it  was  extraordinary  the  value  their  masters 
put  upon  them.  At  first  £40  was  considered  ample 
indemnity,  but  it  rose,  till  at  last  £180  sterling  was 
asked  from  the  public  funds  for  indemnity  for  a 
slave  condemned  to  death. 

‘‘This  indemnity,”  says  Madden,  “ought  to  be 
abolished,  it  is  a bonus  on  negro  executions.”  And 
he  cites  a case  in  which  an  owner  received  £605 
for  his  executed  slaves,  “however  little  he  might 
have  desired  to  have  profited  by  such  means,  while  for 
as  many  living  negroes  when  the  compensation  is 
paid,  he  will  receive  from  the  British  Government 
probably  about  £240.” 

Peace  did  not  come  with  the  apprenticeship.  The 
planters  seem  to  have  resented  it  immensely,  and 
feeling  ran  high.  Their  first  act  was  to  take  from 
the  negroes  all  those  allowances  and  customary 
gratuities  which  were  not  literally  specified  in  the 
new  law.  They  were  free — well,  they  should  see 
what  freedom  was  like. 

Then  after  the  1st  of  August,  according  to 
Madden,  there  were  various  outrages  committed  not 
by  the  negroes  but  by  the  whites  upon  the  blacks, 
and  it  was  exceedingly  hard  to  get  a conviction. 

“A  planter,”  he  writes,  “has  been  indicted  for 
shooting  at  an  old  woman,  and  after  wounding  her 
severely,  discharging  the  second  barrel  at  her, 
but  fortunately  without  effect.  The  grand  jury 
ignored  the  bill. 

Another  gentleman  was  indicted  for  an  outrage 
on  a sick  negro  woman.  The  grand  jury  ignored  the 
bill. 


WORTH  £40  STERLING 


275 


Another  planter  was  indicted  for  the  murder  of 
his  negro  by  shooting  him,  and  was  sentenced  to 
nine  months’  imprisonment. 

Another  gentleman,  an  overseer,  was  committed 
to  jail  a few  weeks  ago  for  the  murder  of  a boy,  by 
shooting  at  a number  of  negroes  assembled  in  a hut 
in  the  act  of  singing  hymns.  He  has  not  yet  been 
tried,  but  from  the  exertions  making  for  him  I 
have  no  expectation  he  will  be  convicted. 

Another  gentleman  was  tried  ...  for  causing 
one  of  his  negroes  to  be  severely  torn  by  dogs,  for 
going  without  permission  to  bury  his  wife,  who  had 
been  dead  three  days,  and  who  had  been  refused 
sufficient  time  to  prepare  her  coffin. 

The  strenuous  exertions  of  the  Chief  Justice 
obtained  a conviction.  He  was  fined  £100. 

But  in  the  majority  of  cases  convictions  are  not 
to  be  expected.” 

How  strangely  it  reads  in  these  days. 

Before  he  closes  his  book  he  goes  on  to  analyse 
the  price  of  slaves,  and  arrives  at  the  conclusion  that 
the  average  price  of  all  the  slaves  that  have  been  im- 
ported into  the  West  Indies  may  be  estimated  at 
about  £40  sterling. 

All  the  sorrow,  all  the  woo,  all  the  long  drawn- 
out  suffering,  and  yet  each  individual  for  his  life 
might  be  counted  as  worth  £40  sterling ! 

I have  found  no  chronicler  who  describes  the 
actual  freeing  in  the  same  graphic  way  as  Madden 
told  us  of  the  apprenticeship.  I think  we  may  be 
sorry  for  both  sides. 

We  must  pity  the  helpless  black  man  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  guidance  all  his  days,  adrift 
in  a land  where  he  owned  nothing,  and  had  not 
the  faintest  idea  either  of  the  value  of  his  services 


276  THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 

or  the  cost  of  his  own  upkeep.  We  may  pity  the 
planters  who  had  to  work  their  estates  with  labour 
in  such  an  uncomfortable  state  of  unrest. 

For  five  and  twenty  years  a sort  of  ominous 
peace  reigned.  Neither  the  planters  nor  their  whilom 
slaves  were  content.  There  seems  to  have  been  a 
sort  of  feeling  among  the  whites  which  is  best 
represented  as — “Well,  you’ve  got  your  freedom! 
Now  are  you  as  well  off  as  when  as  slaves  we 
took  care  of  you ! ” And  very  often  I am  afraid 
they  took  care  their  black  helots  should  not  be 
as  well  off. 

Not  that  the  coloured  people  did  not  advance. 
They  did.  But  their  advancement  was  a threat. 
In  the  streets  of  untidy  Kingston  the  coloured  and 
black  people  met  and  grumbled  and  discussed  local 
politics  at  all  the  street  corners,  the  very  conventicles 
where  they  went  to  pray  were  hotbeds  of  discontent. 
It  is  no  good  saying  they  were  ungrateful.  They 
were  not.  They  had  rights,  but  it  always  takes  a 
long  time  to  make  those  who  will  suffer  in  the 
conferring  of  a great  benefit  understand  that  in 
spite  of  their  discomfort  that  benefit  the  good  of 
the  greater  number,  must  be  conferred.  I can 
quite  understand  the  black  people  vaguely  wanting 
the  rights  they  did  not  understand,  to  land,  to 
better  pay,  to  education,  and  the  white  people 
saying — “What  are  we  to  do  for  service?  These 
people  are  clods.  They  cannot  appreciate  such 
privileges.  Why  make  a fuss  about  them?” 

A planter  would  say — “ That  man  1 ” in  tones 
of  scorn,  “why,  I remember  him  a little  yellow 
piccaninny,  the  son  of  my  black  mammy,  and  there 
he  is  in  a high  collar  and  tall  hat  in  the  Assembly, 
laying  down  the  law  to  his  betters.  Damned 
impudence ! In  my  father’s  time  his  back  would 


thp:  rising  at  morant  bay 


277 


soon  have  made  acquaintance  with  the  ‘cat.’  That 
would  straighten  him  out ! ” And  both  coloured 
and  white  would  be  bitterer  for  the  recollection. 

I think  there  was  a certain  fear  among  the 
whites  of  the  growing  power  among  the  blacks. 
A desire  to  keep  the  subject  race  in  its  place. 

Naturally,  most  naturally.  I am  sure  had  I 
lived  in  those  times  I should  have  sided  with 
them,  for  a black  man,  ignorant  and  aggrieved,  and 
armed  with  a hoe  or  a machete  can  be  a very 
unpleasant  opponent. 

The  brooding  discontent  grew  and  grew,  fomented, 
said  the  white  people  by  men  of  the  half-blood  like 
George  William  Gordon,  men  of  some  standing  and 
education,  and  at  last  on  the  11th  October  1865,  at 
Morant  Bay  in  the  east  of  the  island,  the  place  where 
the  people  from  Nevis  had  settled  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  smouldering  discontent  burst  into  flame. 
The  blacks  rose,  overwhelmed  the  volunteers  by 
sheer  numbers  and  slew  not  only  all  the  white 
magistrates  assembled  in  the  Courthouse,  but  among 
them  a black  man  who  was  much  respected  among 
the  white  people  and  had  risen  to  be  a magistrate. 

The  tale  of  rebellion  seems  always  the  same. 
The  assailed  have  feared  and  feared,  and  yet  when 
the  moment  comes,  are  taken  by  surprise.  It  was 
so  now.  Twenty-two  civilians  were  killed,  thirty- 
four  wounded  and  nearly  all  the  public  buildings 
in  Morant  Bay  were  burnt  down.  Edward  John 
Eyre  was  Governor  of  Jamaica  at  the  time. 

In  Australia  Eyre  had  been  a great  man. 
Wonderfully  he  had  explored  desolate  lands  ; he  was 
Protector  to  the  Aborigines,  and  counted  a man 
who  was  just  to  colour.  But  Jamaica  broke  him. 

The  whites  fled  before  the  blacks  in  the  first  rush, 
as  it  has  ever  been.  There  were  women  and  children 

T 


278  THE  FREEING  OF  THE  SLAVE 

crouching  in  the  wet  jungle  at  night,  fearing  for 
their  lives,  and  because  of  those  who  feared,  and 
those  who  were  dead,  the  whites  gathered  themselves 
together,  proclaimed  martial  law,  and  took  ample — 
nay,  bloody — vengeance.  But  martial  law  was  not 
proclaimed  in  Kingston,  and  because  it  was  not 
proclaimed  there,  Gordon,  who  had  been  born  a 
slave,  the  son  of  his  master,  and  had  risen  to  a 
place  in  the  Assembly,  was  taken  out  of  Kingston, 
and  after  a hasty  trial  hanged  by  martial  law  as 
instigator  of  the  rebellion  on,  it  is  said,  very  scanty 
evidence.  Under  that  same  law  439  coloured  men 
suffered  death — 354  by  sentence  of  the  court-martial, 
and  the  others  shot  by  those  employed  in  putting 
down  the  rebellion,  soldiers,  sailors,  and  om’  old 
friends  the  Maroons.  And  after  martial  law  ceased, 
147  more  were  put  to  death,  while  everywhere  negro 
houses  went  up  in  flames. 

In  truth  they  put  down  that  rebellion  with  a 
heavy  hand,  for  the  white  man  feared  the  black,  who 
outnumbered  him  fifty  to  one. 

There  was  a storm  over  it  in  England.  But 
it  was  all  very  well  for  the  people  there,  safe  in 
their  easy-chairs,  to  judge  those  who  had  quenched 
the  negro  rebellion.  Everyone  of  them  would 
probably  have  been  on  the  side  of  Eyre  had  they 
been  in  Jamaica  in  the  month  of  October  1865. 
Many,  doubtless,  mourned  Gordon,  the  champion 
of  the  black  man,  put  to  death  on  such  insuflScient 
evidence.  His  looks  may  belie  him,  but  he  does 
not  look  a philanthropist.  All  the  white  people 
on  the  island  crowded  to  bid  Eyre  farewell  when 
he  and  his  family  left  Kingston,  for  they  regarded 
the  prompt  measures  he  had  taken  as  having 
saved  the  country  from  all  the  horrors  of  a black 
insurrection.  And  in  speaking  of  “black’'  here  I 


BLACK  AND  WHITE  ARE  AGREED 


279 


mean  simply  mob  rule,  the  condition  of  affairs  that 
must  needs  prevail  when  the  ignorant  get  the  upper 
hand.  Pity  is  forgotten,  riot  and  flame  and  blood- 
shed prevail.  And  from  this  Eyre  undoubtedly  saved 
Jamaica. 

Punch  took  his  side  and  had  a cartoon  in  which 
the  shade  of  Palmerston  reproaches  Disraeli,  and 
says  that  he  would  never  have  abandoned  Eyre. 

“Ye  savages  thirsting  for  bloodshed  and  plunder, 

Ye  miscreants  burning  for  rapine  and  prey  ; 

By  the  fear  of  the  lash  and  the  gallows  kept  under 
Henceforth,  who  shall  venture  to  stand  in  your  way  ? 

Run  riot,  ravage,  kill  without  pity. 

Let  any  man  how  he  molest  you  beware ; 

Beholding  how  hard  the  Jamaica  Committee 
To  ruin  are  trying  to  hunt  gallant  Eyre,” 

wrote  Punch,  and  it  represents  the  feeling  of  a 
large  section  of  the  community,  a section  to  which 
I know  I should  have  belonged.  Punch  does  not 
enter  into  the  question  as  to  why  there  should  be 
“savages  thirsting  for  bloodshed  and  plunder,”  and 
“ miscreants  burning  for  rapine  and  prey.”  Those 
were  not  the  question  of  the  moment.  They  are 
questions  for  all  time. 

We  think  now,  we  are  all  agreed,  black  and 
white,  that  there  must  be  no  bloodshed  and  plunder, 
and  there  must  be  no  section  of  the  community  to 
whom  such  a state  of  things  shall  seem  desirable. 


CHAPTER  XII 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 

Dorinda  came  home  from  church.  She  had  on  a 
neat,  blue  cotton  dress,  a snow-white  handkerchief 
was  wrapped  round  her  head,  her  pretty  black  feet 
were  bare,  and  her  comely  dark  face  stood  clear 
cut  in  the  evening  light  against  the  white  wall  of 
the  house. 

“ What  church  do  you  belong  to,  Dorinda  ? ” 

“Baptist,  missus.”  So  she  was  one  of  the  Black 
Family,  the  church  that  bravely  tried  first  to  teach 
the  slaves. 

“ And  have  you  been  baptised  ? ” 

“No,  missus.  I'm  an  enquirer.”  It  troubled 
her  mistress  a little  that  Dorinda  often  felt  the 
strong  need  to  “ enquire  ” sometime,  when  the  table 
should  be  laid  or  the  silver  cleaned. 

But  an  “ enquirer  ” exactly  represents  my  attitude 
towards  Jamaica.  I’m  an  enquirer  still,  though 
I lived  there  for  over  eighteen  months,  and  every 
day  I learned  something.  Indeed,  much  to  my 
surprise,  I find  I sometimes  appear  to'  know  a great 
deal  more  than  many  of  the  people  who  have  lived 
there  all  their  lives.  It  reminds  me  of  an  American 
tourist  I met  once  at  the  Myrtle  Bank,  Jamaica’s 
principal  hotel — “My  dear,”  she  said,  “I’ve  been  a 
great  traveller  of  late,  and  I’m  just  full  up  of 
information,  mostly  wrong.” 

380 


THE  NATIONALITY  OF  JAMAICA  281 

Still,  there  are  some  things  I can  see  for  myself. 
They  are  forced  upon  me  like  a slap  in  the  face. 
Kingston  was  a disappointment.  It  is  a dust-heap, 
somewhat  ill-kept ; there  is  none  of  the  lush  luxuri- 
ance of  the  tropics  one  expects  from  its  latitude. 
Out  of  Kingston — in  it  too  for  that  matter — it  is 
very  difficult  for  those  not  blessed  with  a superfluity 
of  this  world’s  goods  to  live  in  Jamaica  comfortably, 
simply  and  inexpensively;  the  mosquitoes  are  a 
nuisance,  the  ticks  run  them  a very  good  second, 
and  the  post  office  facilities  are  the  very  worst  in 
the  world. 

Having  relieved  my  mind  of  my  objections  to 
the  country,  I may  say  I have  found  it  a lovely  land, 
its  people  as  hospitable  and  kind  as  its  post  office 
is  bad — which  is  saying  a good  deal — and  I enjoyed 
my  stay  there  so  much  that  I wanted  to  settle  there. 

When  I first  landed,  it  struck  me  the  country 
was  black,  and  then  I learned  its  nationality. 

What  countrywoman  are  you,  Frances  ? ” I asked 
the  lady  who  condescended  to  destroy  my  clothes 
under  the  pretence  of  washing  them.  Frances 
grinned  all  over  her  black  face — well,  not  exactly 
black  but  mahogany  red,  with  a skin  so  fine  the 
greatest  lady  in  the  land  might  envy  her. 

‘‘Me,  missus,  me  British,  missus.”  And  British 
she  and  her  like  are  for  weal  or  woe.  Strongly 
against  their  wills  Britain  forced  her  nationality 
upon  their  fathers,  and  now  they  are  as  loyal  sons 
and  daughters  of  the  Empire  as  are  to  be  found 
under  the  Union  Jack.  Woe  be  to  Britain  if  she 
does  not  treat  these  her  children  well. 

There  came  into  the  harbour  at  Kingston,  the 
lovely  harbour  which  is  not  half  appreciated,  a war- 
ship with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  at  her  peak,  and  the 
black  men  in  the  streets  and  all  along  the  harbour 


282 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


shores  looked  on  with  the  greatest  interest.  More 
than  one  man  took  off  the  ugly  tourist  cap  with 
the  deep  peak  which  seems  a speciality  of  Jamaica, 
and  scratched  his  wool  thoughtfully  and  then  one 
was  found  to  voice  the  thoughts  of  the  rest. 

“Ah!”  said  he,  “but  wait  till  our  Tenieraire 
comes  along.”  It  is  I who  emphasise  the  “om',” 
not  they.  To  them  it  seems  quite  natural.  She  is 
theirs.  And  truly  I think  this  people  have  bought 
their  nationality  with  their  blood  if  ever  people 
have.  Kingston  is  full  of  these  Britons. 

At  first  I was  inclined  to  grumble  because  the 
houses  all  seemed  in  need  of  paint,  all  looked  dusty 
and  untidy,  and  all  wanted  mending  in  places,  all 
the  gardens  needed  water,  in  fact,  but  for  the 
saving  grace  of  the  Myrtle  Bank  Hotel,  I should 
have  damned  Kingston  utterly.  But  I took  the 
Psalmist's  advice  and  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  hills, 
and  I saw  what  a lovely  world  was  this  to  which 
I had  come.  There  was  a harbour,  a harbour  that 
will  hold  a fleet,  a great  sheet  of  blue  water 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  fringed  all  round  with 
the  riotous  green  of  the  tropics,  and  behind  were 
the  Blue  Mountains,  a glorious  setting  for  man's 
untidy  handiwork.  There  is  range  upon  range  of 
hills,  their  peaks  clean  - cut  against  the  blue  sky, 
with  little  cloudlets  nestling  in  their  folds,  and 
dark  blue  shadows  marking  the  deeper  gullies.  A 
splendid  range  of  mountains  they  would  be  in  any 
land,  but  here  they  are  close,  close  so  that  any  man 
may  leave  the  hot  and  dusty  street  and  may  rest  in 
their  gullies,  with  the  refreshing  smell  of  damp  earth 
and  dewy  vegetation  in  his  nostrils. 

This  is  a marked  characteristic,  one  of  the  great 
charms  of  Jamaica.  Nowhere  in  the  world  that  I 
have  been,  have  I found  in  a small  area  so  many 


PRIMEVAL  BUT  POPULATED  283 

points  of  vantage  from  which  may  be  seen  beautiful 
views.  Again  and  again  have  I climbed — nay, 
usually  a motor  or  a buggy  carried  me — to  a hill- 
top or  a hillside,  and  there  stretching  below  me 
was  the  sea,  the  ever  changing  sea,  while  around 
were  range  after  range  of  hills  with  the  cloud 
shadows  resting  upon  them.  There  are  broad- 
leaved banana  plantations  on  their  slopes,  the 
villages  are  embedded  in  mango  and  bread-fruit 
trees,  the  vivid  green  of  sugar  plantations  is  in  the 
rich  bottoms,  a house  here  and  there  gives  life  to 
the  scene,  but  the  rugged  rocks,  crowned  by  tall 
trees,  are  the  same  Columbus  saw.  Here  a sym- 
metrical broad  leaf  stands  out  clear  against  the 
blue  sky,  every  branch  outlined,  and  here  mahogany, 
mahoe,  and  the  giant  cotton  tree,  cedar  and  sweet- 
wood  and  a dozen  other  trees  grow  close  together, 
close  and  tall,  struggling  up  to  the  sunshine,  mark- 
ing by  their  stature  and  their  girth  the  wealth  of  the 
soil  that  has  given  them  birth. 

Sometimes,  often  indeed,  a tropical  storm  sweeps 
over  these  hills,  for  nowhere  in  the  island  is  the 
rainfall  less  than  30  inches  in  the  year,  and  in  many 
places  in  the  mountains  that  amount  falls  in  a month, 
and  anyone  who  has  the  temerity  to  be  out  in  the 
downpour  has  a great  broad  banana  leaf  on  his  head 
and  over  the  bundle  he  is  carrying. 

I have  never  seen  a country  that  seemed  so 
primeval  and  yet  was  so  well  populated,  for  we 
must  admit  that  close  on  a million  people  in  an 
island,  a little  larger  than  half  the  size  of  Wales, 
makes  for  fairly  close  habitation,  and  in  the  remoter 
corners  far  away  from  civilisation  as  distance  goes 
in  the  island,  there  are  everywhere  small  shacks 
where  dwell  the  country  folk.  When  the  shacks 
are  very  far  from  the  main  road,  I know  that  the 


284 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


owner  is  an  ill-used  man,  for  the  Jamaican  peasant 
likes  company.  His  idea  of  bliss  is  to  have  a house 
right  on  the  road,  where  he  can  converse  with  all 
and  sundry  who  pass  by,  and  keep  in  touch  with 
the  life  of  the  island.  He  would  not  give  a ‘'thank 
you”  for  permission  to  live  in  the  empty  Great 
House  on  the  hill  above. 

And  that  is  another  curious  condition  of  Jamaica, 
the  number  of  Great  Houses  empty  and  going  fast 
to  decay.  I have  seen  some,  like  “ Stonehenge,” 
just  a heap  of  rubble,  and  others  like  the  Hyde, 
that  except  for  a day  or  two  once  every  six  weeks 
are  entirely  given  over  to  the  bats  and  the  rats, 
and  the  other  pests  of  Jamaica.  Eeally  quite  a 
large  number  of  the  New  Poor  of  England  could 
be  comfortably  housed  in  the  empty  Great  Houses 
of  Jamaica.  Well,  perhaps  that  is  a forgivable 
exaggeration.  But  Jamaica  is  like  England,  the 

majority  of  people  cannot  afford  to  live  in  her 
Great  Houses  built  for  the  days  when  there  were 
servants  and  slaves  a-plenty,  and  there  was  no 
thought  of  modern  improvements. 

The  Jamaican  negro  usually  does  not  have  his 
plantation  round  his  home.  As  in  the  old  slave 
days  he  has  it  at  some  distance  away,  often  so  far 
that  he  must  needs  stay  there  at  night  to  guard  it. 
The  idea,  I believe,  is  that  he  saves  the  land  round 
his  home  for  the  time  when  his  legs  shall  be  too 
old  to  carry  him  to  a great  distance.  Still,  round 
the  shack  itself  may  often  be  seen  the  poles  sup- 
porting the  green  vines  of  yams,  and  often  there  is 
a breadfruit  tree,  its  leafy  arms  stretching  out 
hospitably,  its  handsome  leaves  glimmering  and 
glinting  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  season  when 
it  is  well  grown  its  fruit  will  support  a village. 
He  probably  also  has  a few  bananas  or  plantains. 


1 


KEEPING  A DOG  AT  HOME 


285 


and  there  is  sometimes  a primitive  mill,  with  a blind- 
folded mule  going  slowly  round  and  round,  crushing 
the  cane  for  the  coarse  head  sugar  that  the  black 
man  loves.  There  are  some  hens  scratching  happily, 
for  there  is  plenty  for  a hen  to  eat,  a goat  or  two 
is  tethered  on  a patch  of  grass,  for  the  children 
want  milk,  and  there  is  a pig,  the  only  animal  the 
negro  feels  bound  to  feed.  He  grows  yams  and 
corn  and  cocos  for  his  hog,  but  his  poor  mongrel 
dog  is  so  starved  as  a rule  (I  have  seen  brilliant 
exceptions),  it  makes  your  heart  ache. 

When  we  lived  at  the  Hyde,  the  mongrel  dogs 
belonging  to  the  Busha'’  and  some  of  the  labourers 
were  the  plague  of  our  lives.  They  were  always 
ranging  the  place  in  search  of  scraps.  On  one 
occasion  we  did  remonstrate  as  forcibly  as  we 
dared  with  a black  man  who  owned  an  unfortunate 
starving  puppy  whose  bones  stood  out  of  its  skin, 
and  the  next  day  the  poor  brute  arrived,  starved  as 
ever,  with  a bleeding  stump  where  its  tail  should 
have  been.  On  its  heels  came  its  angry  master. 
And  we  were  also  angry. 

‘‘I  dun  all  me  can,  missus,”  he  explained.  ‘‘He 
will  come.  Me  cut  off  him  tail  an’  burry  him  an’ 
tie  him  on  top.  It  sure  ting  him  stay  wid  him 
tail  but  him  bruck  de  ’tring.” 

Poor  things ! Poor  things ! The  sufferings  of 
the  dogs  and  indeed  of  all  animals  in  Jamaica  at 
the  hands  of  unthinking  black  men ! 

A self-contained  establishment  is  the  Jamaican 
shack.  Sometimes  it  is  built  of  wattle,  as  the  huts 
to-day  are  built  on  the  Gambia,  whence  came  the 
Mandingo  slaves,  sometimes  mud  is  daubed  on  the 
wattle,  as  it  is  on  the  Gold  Coast,  sometimes  it  is 
built  of  rough  logs  and  it  is  thatched  with  palm 
leaves,  or,  as  the  family  rises  in  the  social  scale,  with 


286 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


shingle.  In  it  apparently  dwell  a large  family,  ranging 
from  the  old  granny  whose  age  no  man  knoweth, 
to  the  new-born  baby  of  her  great  grand-daughter, 
a baby  born  into  a new  world  where  life  I know  will 
be  easier  for  it  and  hold  more  advantages  than  it 
did  for  the  old  woman  who  sits  nodding  in  the 
shade.  Perhaps  the  hut  belongs  to  her.  It  often 
seemed  to  me  that  the  hut  did  belong  to  the  women, 
even  as  they  do  in  the  country  from  which  they 
came. 

All  the  cultivator,  man  or  woman,  need  buy  is 
the  scanty  household  furnishing,  and  a very  limited 
supply  of  clothing  for  the  elders  and  the  younger 
children.  The  older  boys  and  girls  soon  learn  to 
provide  for  themselves.  It  is  quite  easy  to  live  off 
the  land,  and  if  more  money  is  wanted  there  is 
always  a cattle  pen  or  a sugar  estate  handy  where 
wages  can  be  earned.  When  the  emancipation 
came,  the  angry  planter  declared  he  wanted  no 
idle  vagabonds  upon  his  estate,  and  did  his  best 
to  break  up  the  old  slave  villages.  Now  as  the 
manager  of  a sugar  estate  told  me  he  likes  to 
have  his  labour  close,  and  he  at  least  was  en- 
couraging the  negroes  once  more  to  build  upon  his 
plantation.  Not  that  the  negro  works  very  hard  as 
yet.  The  hard-working  toiler  of  the  north  would  be 
surprised  at  the  easy-going  ways  of  these  children 
of  the  sun.  A man  will  work  I am  told  four  days 
a week,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday, 
but  he  has  his  wages  on  Friday  night,  so  he  does 
no  work  on  Saturday,  it  is  market  day.  Sunday  of 
course  is  a day  of  rest,  everyone  knows  it  would 
be  wicked  to  work  on  Sunday,  and  Monday  is 
banana  day — the  day  when  the  bananas  are  taken 
down  to  the  port.  All  the  roads  down  from  the 
mountains,  the  roads  that  those  in  authority  have 


SERVING  THE  EMPIRE 


287 


decreed  shall  be  as  far  as  is  possible  without  shade, 
are  lined  with  people  mostly  women  and  girls  bearing 
on  their  heads  great  bunches  of  green  bananas,  which 
are  sold  to  the  fruit  companies  or  at  their  collecting 
depots  about  the  country.  A fruitful  land!  It 
strikes  me  forcibly,  for  I am  fresh  from  reading  the 
wails  of  the  slave  owners — ‘Hhe  negroes  will  not 
increase.”  Will  any  wild  things  kept  in  captivity 
increase  ? But  put  those  same  wild  things  in  suitable 
environment.  Miss  Maxwell  Hall  has  a story  about 
this  increase. 

She  interested  herself  to  get  a pen  boy  of  hers 
into  one  of  the  contingents  going  to  the  war.  He 
wanted  to  serve  the  Empire  — his  Empire.  He 
was  a stalwart  young  fellow,  but  enquiries  had  to 
be  made  about  those  dependent  upon  him.  Then 
she  found  that  he  was  the  father  of  eleven  children, 
five  by  one  woman  and  six  by  two  other  women  ! 
They  were  all  alive  and  there  was  every  probability 
of  more  ! He  had  already  served  the  Empire  so  well 
that  the  Government  felt  he  had  better  stay  at  home 
and  see  to  the  proper  upbringing  of  the  hostages  he 
had  given  to  fortune. 

No  wonder  there  are  thronged  roads,  but  there 
should  be  more  cultivated  patches.  The  cultivation 
should  be  like  that  of  Provence,  for  this  is  a fruitful 
country,  although  people  talk  of  its  being  so  poor. 
Miss  Maxwell  Hall,  that  most  capable  young  pen- 
keeper,  says — “For  years  everyone  has  been  engaged 
in  taking  money  out  of  Jamaica.  No  one  ever  seems 
to  have  thought  of  putting  money  into  the  land,  of 
working  the  country  for  itself.”  Exactly  what 
Madden  said  ninety  years  before. 

Does  this  explain  the  desolate  looking  towns 
set  amidst  such  fertile  lands?  There  are  poor. 
I saw  them  every  day,  but  why  they  are  so  poor 


288 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


I do  not  know.  All  the  civilised  world  is  crying 
out  for  just  such  small  products  as  the  negro  can 
supply,  cold  storage  is  the  order  of  the  day,  why 
then  are  there  any  poor  in  Jamaica  ? Possibly  a 
discreet  knowledge  of  the  growing  powers  of  the 
soil  is  lacking,  and  also  there  is  no  doubt  manual 
labour  is  despised. 

With  whip  and  chain  the  white  man  taught  the 
black — drove  the  thought  into  him  with  the  branding 
iron — that  manual  labour  was  a despicable  thing,  some- 
thing only  to  be  undertaken  by  those  who  could  do 
no  better,  and  we  cannot  undo  that  teaching  in  a 
few  years.  Indeed  it  is  only  in  the  last  few  years, 
only  since  the  cruel  war  which  has  made  us  all  so 
wise,  that  Britain  herself  learned  the  lesson. 

I have  always  been  keenly  interested  in  openings 
for  women,  and  inclined  to  be  wrathful  when  other 
women  talk  as  if  matrimony  were  the  only  career  for 
a woman.  Of  course  matrimony  is  good  for  a 
woman,  exactly  as  it  is  for  a man,  but  I have  always 
felt  strongly  that  it  is  for  the  nation's  good  that 
every  woman  should  go  down  into  the  arena  and 
work  for  her  living  as  a man  does.  If  she  marry — 
well — she  will  know  better  how  to  bring  up  her 
own  sons  and  daughters,  and  if  she  do  not  marry — 
also  well.  She  will  have  made  a place  for  herself 
in  the  world,  and  can  hold  up  her  head  as  a valuable 
citizen. 

Feeling  this  strongly,  it  is  no  wonder  that  one  of 
the  most  interesting  happenings  of  my  stay  in 
Jamaica  was  my  coming  upon  Charlotte  Maxwell 
Hall,  a young  woman  who  is  entering  upon  a career 
I should  have  loved  at  her  age.  She  is  young, 
extremely  good  looking,  if  she  will  allow  me  to  say 
so,  charming,  and,  above  all,  she  is  strenuous  and 
vivid  with  energy — indomitable.  She  is  the  Govern- 


Photo  h)j]  {G.' Maxwell  Hall. 

Mango  Walk,  Kempshot  (see  p.  169). 


Photo  hy] 


Looking  up  at  Kempshot. 


[G.  Ma.xwell  Hall. 


[Face  pa.rje  2SS. 


MISS  MAXWELL  HALL 


289 


ment  Meteorologist,  and  she  is  managing  the  cattle 
pen  which  her  father  bought  forty  years  ago,  long 
before  she  was  born.  She  lives  up  at  Kempshot, 
on  top  of  the  highest  hill  for  miles  round,  which 
has  one  of  the  loveliest  views  in  lovely  Jamaica,  and 
she  is  gradually  working  that  600  acres  of  rough 
hill  country  into  a beautiful  park,  where  the  pastures 
are  walled  by  stone  walls  as  they  are  in  Derbyshire 
or  Northern  China,  walls  built  from  the  stones  picked 
off  the  pastures,  which  must  be  put  somewhere.  She 
looks  after  her  trees.  She  prunes  ; why  should  not 
shelter  trees  be  kept  beautifully,  says  she,  and  she 
takes  every  opportunity  of  planting  trees  from  other 
lands.  And  as  for  her  cattle,  they  are  tended  under 
her  own  eyes,  and  she  wages  unceasing  war  against 
that  plague  of  Jamaica,  the  tick. 

For  the  acquaintance — the  friendship  I think  I 
may  write  now — of  this  young  lady,  I am  indebted 
to  my  cook  Malvina.  We  had  left  the  Hyde  and 
gone  to  live  at  Montego  Bay,  and  the  family  wanted 
milk,  wanted  it  rather  badly,  as  Samuel  Hyde 
Parsons,  “young  massa  up  at  Hyde,’'  was  but  a 
small  person  and  milk  is  a precious  commodity  in 
Montego  Bay.  Many  people  got  it  out  of  a tin. 
We  did  at  first.  And  Malvina  suggested — “Why 
not  missus  writing  to  Miss  Maxwell  Hall?  Miss 
Maxwell  Hall  kindly  supplying.” 

I didn’t  know  whether  the  lady  would  be  “ kindly 
supplying”  or  not,  but  I thought  the  offer  of  cash 
down  might  induce  her  to  do  so. 

And  my  letter  brought  me  a visit  from  a laugh- 
ing girl  in  a motor,  who  said  she  did  sell  milk, 
rather  to  the  horror  of  some  of  her  relations  who 
felt  that  the  most  she  ought  to  do  was  to  “oblige 
a few  friends.”  She,  finding  her  milk  going  to 
waste,  had  advanced  a step  further  and  did  not 


290 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


see  why  she  should  not  oblige  herself,  and  had  set  to 
work  putting  that  milk-walk  upon  a business  basis. 

And  there  and  then  on  the  verandah  looking  out 
over  the  sea,  we  struck  up  a friendship  based  on 
my  unbounded  admiration  for  her  and  her  work. 
Presently  I was  looking  for  a house  without  being 
able  to  find  one  that  suited  my  needs,  and  she  came 
to  my  rescue  with  an  invitation  to  the  three  of  us, 
myself,  Eva  and  the  baby,  to  go  to  Kempshot  Pen. 

And  there  I saw  a side  of  life  which  gave  me 
not  only  great  hopes  of  Jamaica,  but  for  all  the 
tropical  possessions  of  Britain.  Here  was  a place 
run — by  a woman,  a young  woman — and  run  frankly 
for  gain  and  for  the  good  of  all  the  people 
surrounding  it. 

Charlotte  Maxwell  Hall  is  Jamaican  born  (of 
English  parents)  and  she  loves  her  home,  and  she 
is  making  a beginning  of  a new  phase  in  that  land. 
What  she  is  doing  to  the  surprise  of  her  generation, 
the  next  generation  will  be  keen  on  doing  and  they 
will  regenerate  Jamaica. 

Not  that  there  are  not  rich  pens  and  well  kept 
pens,  but  they  are  managed  by  men  and  they  are 
much  greater  in  extent. 

Kempshot  specially  attracted  me  because  it  was 
run  by  a young  woman  of  an  age  when  many  girls 
are  thinking  only  of  their  amusement,  run  not  only 
with  the  intention  of  getting  every  ounce  of  good 
out  of  the  soil,  but  of  putting  back  into  that  soil 
all  the  good  that  came  out  out  of  it.  And  the  place 
where  she  earns  her  livelihood,  the  place  where  the 
slaves  rose  and  ninety  years  ago  drove  Major  Hall 
and  his  wife  fleeing  in  the  night  down  through  the 
jungle  for  their  very  lives,  bids  fair  to  be  a very 
jewel  among  homesteads,  a model  for  all  Jamaican 
homesteads.  I only  trust  the  loneliness  of  it  will 


A USE  FOR  MAHOGANY  TREES  291 

not  drive  her  away.  And  then,  of  course,  with  a 
woman,  and  an  attractive  one,  there  is  always  the 
danger  that  some  man  may  persuade  her  to  marry 
him  and  he  will  carry  her  ofiF. 

Oh,  but  some  of  those  ladies  Madden  talks  about, 
‘‘  accustomed  to  all  the  refinements  of  English 
society,”  would  turn  in  their  graves  if  they  could 
see  this  their  modern  representative.  She  will  be 
still  in  her  youth  when  her  years  make  her  old 
enough  to  be  the  mother  of  the  girls  of  his  time. 
But  then  she  arises  long  before  dawn,  she  is  riding 
or  walking  in  boots  and  breeches,  dogs  at  her  heels, 
over  the  pen  seeking  with  the  eye  of  the  master  for 
defects  as  soon  as  the  first  glimmer  of  light  comes 
over  the  mountains ; she  rests  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  but  her  work  is  hardly  done  when  the  sun 
sinks  gorgeously  to  rest  behind  the  tree-topped 
hills  in  the  west. 

And  she  has  her  work  cut  out  for  her.  For  the 
negro,  whether  on  her  estate  or,  what  is  worse,  on 
its  borders,  is  intolerably  wasteful  of  his  property 
and  other  people’s.  For  instance,  she  found  on  the 
land  when  it  came  into  her  hands  two  well-grown 
handsome  trees  which  she  discovered  were  mahogany 
trees.  She  hailed  them  with  delight  and  gave  them 
every  attention.  And  then  one  day  to  her  dismay 
she  found  her  precious  trees,  trees  nearly  as  old  as 
herself,  dying  and  past  all  hope,  for  some  negro 
outside  her  boundaries  had  stripped  the  bark  off 
them,  because  mahogany  bark — and  mahogany  bark 
is  difficult  to  get  now  in  accessible  places — makes 
the  best  floor  stain ! That  is  the  sort  of  difficulty 
the  man  or  woman  who  would  do  well  by  the 
country  has  to  encounter  in  Jamaica.  It  takes  the 
heart  out  of  the  worker.  What  was  the  good  of 
storming  and  raging,  the  seventeen  year  old 


292 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


mahogany  trees  were  dead,  because  a negro  wanted 
to  earn  without  trouble  a few  pence  in  Montego 
Bay.  Again  and  again  going  the  rounds,  Miss 
Maxwell  Hall  finds  that  the  black  people  have 
ruthlessly  cut  down  trees  she  is  cherishing,  cut 
them  down  for  firewood,  or  to  make  shingles,  or 
for  a riding-whip  or  some  other  trifle. 

In  my  experience  the  negro  peasant  makes  a 
very  wasteful  agriculturist.  Sir  Hugh  Clifford  I 
see,  speaking  of  the  countries  from  which  the  for- 
bears of  the  coloured  Jamaican  came,  advocates 
that  white  men  be  not  encouraged  to  settle  in  these 
lands,  that  they  be  left  to  the  peasants. 

I see  what  he  means.  He  deprecates  the  arrival 
of  the  white  man,  who  comes  as  a bird  of  passage, 
anxious  to  take  all  he  can  out  of  the  land  before 
retiring  after  a certain  number  of  years  to  enjoy 
his  spoils — a well-earned,  peaceful  old  age  he  would 
call  it,  an  old  age  beginning  somewhere  about  forty 
— in  the  country  of  his  birth. 

The  countries  that  go  to  make  up  the  Empire 
should  not  be  so  treated.  But  I cannot  think  that 
the  peasant  on  the  soil  is  best  left  alone  to  work 
out  his  own  salvation.  He  will  work  it  out  I 
suppose  in  time,  but  the  cost  will  be  heavy.  I have 
watched  the  peasant  in  the  Alpes  Maritimes  in 
France,  I have  seen  the  fishermen  drawing  their 
nets  in  the  Italian  Riviera,  and  I have  seen  the 
negro  in  Jamaica  and  West  Africa,  and  I unhesitat- 
ingly say  that  the  cost  of  that  working  out  is  very 
heavy  indeed. 

The  fishermen  complained  bitterly — there  are  no 
more  fish,  only  the  little  young  ones,  but  they  went 
on  fishing  relentlessly,  taking  every  one,  destroying 
those  that  were  so  small  they  fell  through  the  fine 
meshes  of  the  net  on  to  the  beach. 


RUINOUS  AGRICULTURISTS 


293 


‘‘Oh,  they  take  all,”  said  a man  looking  on  who 
spoke  a little  French,  and  he  laughed. 

In  Jamaica  the  peasant  is  a very  wasteful,  a 
ruinous  agriculturist,  the  only  thing  he  does  not 
waste  is  his  own  health  and  energy.  In  West 
Africa  the  same  accusation  held  good.  The  peasant 
ruthlessly  burnt  down  the  forest  trees  to  make  a 
place  for  his  patch  of  food  - stuffs,  and  when  the 
land  was  worn  out  there  he  chose  another  spot 
and  repeated  the  destruction.  He  does  the  same 
in  Jamaica. 

In  France  it  is  the  other  way.  The  country  is 
carefully  tilled.  The  hillsides  that  would  be  barren 
anywhere  else  are  blooming  gardens,  but  the  work- 
ing out  bears  cruelly  on  the  individual,  especially  on 
the  women.  Look  at  the  people,  white  people  all, 
industrious,  thrifty,  admirable  in  many  ways — and 
about  as  far  advanced  in  civilisation  as  they  were  at 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century!  Their  women  are 
worn  with  toil,  they  are  haggard  and  old,  toothless 
crones,  before  they  are  thirty.  All  the  joy  and  loveli- 
ness has  gone  out  of  their  life.  Up  in  the  mountains 
they  are  devout  enough,  but  they  have  no  use  for 
modern  science,  and  as  I saw  them  they  are  not  as 
far  advanced  as  many  a negro  I have  met  in  Jamaica, 
even  as  the  negroes  are  far  behind  the  farmers  of 
Australia  and  New  Zealand. 

Now  I am  sure  that  most  people  will  agree 
with  me  that  the  capable  business  man — and  in 
“ man  ” I include  the  capable  of  both  sexes — the  man 
with  modern  knowledge  and  training,  the  farseeing 
man  who  will  settle  in  a country  and  give  it  the 
best  of  his  years,  will  educate  and  help  the  peasant 
to  get  the  most  out  of  the  land  and  better  his  lot, 
who  will  bring  up  his  children  to  follow  in  his 
footsteps,  must  be  a boon  in  any  land.  The 

u 


294 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


ignorant  peasant  wastes ; in  France  his  laboui’  and 
strength  in  archaic  methods  of  labour  and  life,  in 
Jamaica  and  West  Africa  he  wastes  the  timber, 
he  wastes  the  animals  he  has  under  him,  he  wastes 
the  soil,  the  earth  brings  forth  not  one-tenth  of 
what  it  might  under  more  enlightened  rule. 

And  I need  not  say  what  that  increase  would 
mean,  not  only  to  the  peasant  but  to  a great  manu- 
facturing country  like  Great  Britain. 

When  I read  about  Garden  Cities  in  England, 
and  the  necessity  for  women  emigrating,  I am  full 
of  wonder  why  someone  with  a little  money  does 
not  start  an  agricultural  colony  in  Jamaica.  I can 
see  no  reason  why  the  beautiful  land  should  become 
the  exclusive  property  of  the  rich  fleeing  from  the 
northern  winter.  It  should  be  an  ideal  place  for 
people  who  are  not  rich,  especially  for  women.  Here 
is  eternal  summer,  here  are  beautiful  surroundings, 
here  is  a fertile  soil  crying  out  for  cultivation,  here 
is  a large  peasant  population  waiting  for  employment, 
here  is  an  ample  fruit  supply,  here  should  be  milk 
and  eggs  and  chickens  in  abundance;  here  is  no 
need  of  fires  and  furs,  of  winter  clothing,  of  carpets 
and  curtains,  of  heavy  bedding. 

If  a woman  go  to  Canada  or  Australia  she  must 
use  her  hands — it  will  do  her  no  harm,  but  many 
women  do  not  like  the  prospect — but  in  Jamaica 
for  many  a long  day  to  come  there  will  be  labom’ 
in  plenty  crying  out  for  a guiding  hand.  All  it 
seems  to  me  that  is  required  to  make  such  settle- 
ments a great  success  is  a little  money — you  cannot 
have  land  and  plan  to  work  it  for  nothing  anywhere — 
a little  common  sense,  and  they  would  be  a boon 
not  only  to  Jamaica  but  to  the  Empire.  Only  one 
thing,  two  things,  perhaps,  I would  insist  on.  All 
the  windows  must  be  built  as  are  those  in  the  south 


PREDIAL  LARCENY 


295 


of  France  and  in  Italy — like  doors  that  open  wide 
and  let  in  an  abundance  of  air,  and  not  as  they 
make  them  in  Jamaica,  sash  fashion,  after  the  custom 
of  cold  England.  And  no  settler  must  live  in  a 
mosquito-proof  room.  He  must  clear  away  the 
mosquitoes. 

They  talk  about  the  Jamaican  negro  as  dishonest, 
but  I think  that  is  to  be  attributed  to  ignorance,  and 
will  mend  with  better  wages  and  better  education. 
My  servants,  low  as  were  their  wages,  might  have 
been  trusted  as  a rule  with  my  money  or  my  jewellery 
or  even  my  clothes,  and  they  only  pilfered  the  flour 
and  sugar  and  such  like  commodities  which,  con- 
sidering they  fed  themselves  and  these  things  were 
dear,  was  putting  their  sins  on  a par  with  that  of 
the  boy  who  steals  sugar  or  apples;  but  there  is 
a form  of  larceny  in  Jamaica  which  is  very  crippling 
to  industry,  and  which  I have  not  heard  of  in  any 
other  land.  The  Jamaican  peasant  cannot  for  the 
life  of  him  help  predial  larceny,  that  is  field  larceny. 
He  steals  not  only  from  the  well-to-do  man  with 
a large  acreage,  but  from  his  neighbour  and  his  friend. 
Before  the  yams  are  ready  for  digging,  or  the  corn 
ready  to  be  cut,  comes  along  the  predial  thief  and 
relieves  the  owner  of  a large  portion  of  his  crop. 
Whenever  any  man  plants  he  must  put  in  enough 
to  supply  the  greedy  robber,  who  is  too  lazy  to 
plant  for  himself.  Everyone  expects  part  of  his 
crop  to  be  taken.  It  is  the  curse  of  the  country. 

‘‘Missus,”  said  a black  boy  to  Miss  Maxwell 
Hall,  “you  buy  my  corn  when  him  ripe?” 

“ Have  you  any  corn,  Cyril  ? ” He  rejoiced  in  that 
high-sounding  name. 

“Got  good  big  plot,  missus.  Him  ripe  soon.” 

“Very  well,”  she  said  good-naturedly,  anxious 
to  help  on  the  industrious,  and  passing  over  the 


296 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


fact  that  he  had  calmly  taken  her  land  without 
paying  any  rent.  So  the  time  went  on  and  the 
fowls  wanted  food. 

“Where's  that  corn,  Cvril  ? " 

“ Oh,  missus ! ” sighed  Cyril,  sad,  but  not 
surprised,  “somebody  tief  him  all." 

And  his  was  the  common  lot. 

Near  one  of  the  big  towns  there  was  a man  who, 
having  a crop  of  roots  from  which  he  expected  great 
things,  took  the  trouble  to  sit  up  and  watch  by 
night  with  a shot-gun  in  his  hand.  He  concealed 
himself,  of  course,  and  in  the  uncertain  light  of  the 
early  morning  he  saw  a big  figure  stooping  over 
his  precious  roots,  and,  aiming  low,  let  fly.  The  dark 
figure  scufi3ed  away  promptly,  and  the  owner  of  the 
land  was  satisfied,  because  when  the  daylight  came 
he  found  blood  on  the  ground. 

“Now,"  he  said  to  himself,  “when  I hear  some 
man  got  sick  in  de  laigs  den  I know  who  tief 
my  yams." 

For  a day  or  two  nothing  happened,  and  then 
it  began  to  be  rumoured  that  a well-known  man, 
a man  in  quite  a decent  position  in  the  community, 
had  a curious  swelling  in  his  legs. 

“No  can  put  foot  to  groun',"  and  the  owner  of 
the  yams  smiled. 

The  sick  man  went  to  the  hospital  at  last,  though 
he  stood  off*  as  long  as  he  could,  and  those  incon- 
siderate doctors,  instead  of  appMng  the  proper 
remedies,  insisted  upon  enquiring  into  the  cause  of 
the  trouble,  which  he  felt  was  no  business  of  theirs. 

“What  were  you  doing?"  asked  the  inquisitive 
leeches. 

“Cuttin*  bush,”  said  the  patient  ruefully,  “an' 
me  fall  backwards  into  makra  with  bad  thorn,”  and 
further  investigation  revealed  the  fact  that  at  the 


A STRONG  DESIRE  TO  PLEASE 


297 


bottom  of  every  makra  thorn  wound  there  was  a 
large  pellet  such  as  would  come  out  of  a shot-gun ! 

But  the  patient  insisted  he  had  not  been  shot. 
He  didn't  want  to  be  arrested  for  larceny ! But 
everybody  about  the  place  then  knew  that  this 
well-to-do  man  had  paid  a night  visit  to  his  poorer 
neighbour’s  yam  patch ! 

What  the  remedy  for  this  evil  is  going  to  be 
I don’t  know.  Of  course  everyone  must  see  the 
cause.  The  curse  of  slavery  that  hung  over  the 
land  for  250  years  destroys  every  shred  of  self- 
respect.  I put  it  to  you,  can  a slave  have  any 
self-respect,  a man  who  is  not  responsible  for  his 
own  doings.  He  took  everything  he  could  get, 
honestly  or  dishonestly,  he  was  fraudulently  held 
himself,  what  did  it  matter  to  him  whose  property 
he  took  so  long  as  he  kept  his  back  from  the  lash. 
And  a standard  of  life  that  has  been  inculcated 
for  so  long  is  not  likely  to  be  altered  in  three 
generations,  especially  when  for  the  greater  part  of 
that  time  these  people  have  been  most  distressingly 
poor. 

I like  the  black  man  of  Jamaica.  No  one  can 
help  liking  him,  and  still  more  do  I like  the  black 
woman,  with  her  smiling  face  and  her  strong  desire 
to  please.  But  even  in  this  strong  desire  to  please  I 
trace  the  mark  of  that  cruel  bondage  that  held  the 
people  for  so  long.  Ask  a peasant  man  or  woman 
a simple  question,  how  far,  for  instance,  is  a certain 
place,  and  he  will  not  tell  you  the  truth,  though 
he  may  have  walked  the  distance  every  day  of  his 
life,  and  if  he  does  not  know  it  in  terms  of  miles, 
has  a very  good  idea  of  how  long  it  will  take  you 
to  reach  it,  and  could  tell  you  if  he  pleased.  But 
no,  he  tries  to  find  out  how  far  you  wish  it  to  be, 
and  that  distance  it  is.  Ask  about  the  weather, 


298 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


and  if  you  show  you  wish  for  rain  your  peasant 
predicts  rain,  even  as  he  is  sure  it  is  going  to  be 
fine  if  you  want  fine  weather.  Still  at  heart  he 
is  a slave,  dependent  in  a measure  on  the  kindliness 
of  those  above  him  for  all  he  wants. 

But  dishonesty  is  not  inborn  in  the  Jamaican 
peasant.  At  the  Myrtle  Bank  Hotel,  where  the 
servants  are  not  only  well  paid  but  get  good  tips 
from  the  guests,  the  maids  are  so  rigidly  honest 
that  the  very  pins  and  hairpins  I dropped  on  the 
floor  were  picked  up  and  placed  on  my  dressing-table. 

It  was  a significant  fact.  They  were  no  longer 
slaves,  they  were  self-respecting  men  and  women — 
even  as  you  or  I.  Their  very  tongue  had  altered. 
They  spoke  excellent  English,  spoke  in  soft  and 
pleasant  voices,  to  which  it  was  a pleasure  to  listen. 
Most  of  the  negroes  have  naturally  pleasant  tones, 
educated,  they  are  delightful  so  long  as  the  speaker 
does  not  think  about  himself  and  become  pompous 
and  bombastic. 

They  tell  me  there  is  no  discontent  among  the 
well-paid  employees  of  the  United  Fruit  Company, 
that  they  do  their  work  cheerfully  and  well,  and 
I have  seen  for  myself  happy,  honest,  well-spoken 
house  servants.  I once  stayed  in  a house,  that  of 
the  Hon.  A.  Harrison,  custos  of  Manchester.  I 
was,  unluckily,  very  ill,  and  was  waited  upon  by 
a girl  named  Hilda,  who  spoke  exactly  like  a 
highly-educated  English  lady.  She  had  a charmingly 
modulated  voice,  and  her  words  were  well  chosen, 
though  she  was  a simple,  barefooted  girl  in  a cotton 
gown  with  a handkerchief  on  her  head. 

“ How  is  it,  Hilda,  you  speak  so  nicely  ? ” I asked 
in  wonder. 

She  showed  a row  of  even  milk-white  teeth  in 
a smile. 


“HOW  MANY  FOOT  PUSS  FIAB  GOT?”  299 

“I  don’t  know,  ma’am,”  she  said.  ‘'Perhaps  it 
is  because  I have  lived  with  my  mistress  for  thirteen 
years  and  learned  to  talk  as  she  does.” 

This  is  what  may  be,  but  as  a rule  is  not. 

They  tell  a story  of  an  inspector  at  a school 
examining  the  children  in  general  knowledge. 

“ How  many  feet  has  a cat  ? ” he  asked  smiling. 

A row  of  black  eyes  looked  at  him  stolidly. 

He  asked  again,  but  still  there  was  no  dawning 
intelligence  in  those  eyes.  He  began  to  wonder. 
Didn’t  they  have  cats  in  this  place?  Then  the 
teacher  stood  up. 

“ How  many  foot  puss  hab  got  ? ” 

And  they  answered  as  one. 

I could  wish  that  the  schools  were  better  equipped, 
for  the  negro  patois,  amusing  as  it  is,  is  still  but  patois, 
and  though  negro  voices  can  be  soft  and  pleasant, 
often  I have  heard  them  talking  among  themselves 
with  very  ugly  intonations  indeed. 

And  yet  it  is  a shame  to  complain,  for  though 
it  is  delightful  to  live  amidst  lovely  scenery,  it  is 
always  the  people  who  add  piquancy  to  life.  And  the 
Jamaican  peasant  was  always  adding  to  my  joy. 
He  didn’t  mean  to  do  it.  It  was  when  he  was  most 
natural  I got  the  best  results. 

On  Kempshot  Pen  one  day  the  head  man  came 
reporting  that  the  men  had — like  men  all  over  the 
world — struck  for  higher  wages.  But  they  chose 
the  wrong  time.  Their  mistress  could  do  without 
them,  and  she  did. 

“Tell  them,”  she  said,  “they  can  go.  I can 
manage.”  And  they  set  out  to  enjoy  themselves. 
About  an  hour  later  she  was  aroused  by  a loud 
wailing,  and  in  burst  a man  with  his  eyes  starting  out 
of  his  head  and  the  lower  part  of  his  face  a bloody 
pulp.  She  did  not  recognise  one  of  her  own  men,  and 


300 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


he  could  only  gug — gag — gug,  and  splutter  blood  and 
broken  teeth.  But  there  were  two  shamefaced  men 
at  the  gate  who  looked  as  if  they  had  broken  all  the 
commandments,  and  expected  to  be  well  beaten  for  it. 

‘‘It  was  Victor,”  they  explained. 

“ Victor ! ” 

Then  they  told  the  story.  As  they  were  on 
strike  Victor  had  decided  to  go  shooting.  But  his 
gun,  an  old  muzzle-loading  affair,  declined  to  go 
off.  He  proceeded  to  investigate  and  blew  down 
the  barrel,  while  another  man  kindly  applied  a fire 
stick  to  the  touch-hole.  The  matter  was  settled 
in  half  a second,  and  he  received  most  of  a charge 
of  small  shot  in  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  It  looked 
horrible  enough,  but  it  wasn't  as  bad  as  it  might 
have  been,  for  either  the  powder  was  damp  or  he 
had  been  economical  with  it.  But  his  wounds  were 
far  beyond  all  simple  household  skill,  and  his  mistress 
could  only  pack  him  off  on  a donkey  to  the  doctor 
in  the  town  below. 

An  open-air  life  and  a vegetable  diet  is  apparently 
good  for  the  healing  of  gun-shot  wounds,  for  long 
before  we  expected  him,  Victor  was  back  again,  but 
slightly  scarred  and  smiling.  He  was  quite  well,  he 
explained,  and  had  only  lost  “a  toof  or  two.”  The 
doctor  said  he  had  taken  away  half  his  upper  jaw, 
but  as  he  didn't  know  he  had  an  upper  jaw  that 
didn't  trouble  him. 

Meanwhile  at  the  time  of  the  accident  the  head 
man  had  improved  the  occasion. 

“ See  what  happen  to  Victor  when  you  no  work,” 
said  he,  and  every  man  jack  came  back  to  work 
without  a word  about  the  extra  money  they  had 
felt  they  could  not  do  without,  and  worked  so  well 
that  the  surprised  pen  owner  found  she  had  three 
days'  work  done  in  one. 


SUPERSTITION 


301 

It  seemed  to  me  extraordinary,  but  she  only 
laughed.  She  was  accustomed  to  their  superstitions 
working  that  way.  Once  she  had  contracted  with  a 
man  named  Maxwell  to  come  and  shoe  her  horses,  to 
come  always  the  moment  he  was  sent  for.  He 
agreed  readily  enough,  but  the  day  a horse  cast  a 
shoe  and  she  sent  for  him,  he  sent  back  word  he 
was  cutting  bush  and  could  not  come.  Well,  she 
could  not  wait,  so  sent  for  another  man,  and  just 
as  he  was  finishing  the  job,  into  the  yard  came 
Maxwell  with  a bandage  over  his  eye. 

‘‘Why,  Maxwell,  I thought  you  couldn’t  come.” 
“I  come  now,  missus.” 

“ But  what’s  the  matter  with  your  eye  ? ” 

“Well,  missus,  a bit  of  bush,  he  jump  up  an’  lick 
me  in  de  eye.” 

That  bit  of  bush  had  licked  him  to  such  a tune 
that  all  the  lower  eyelid  had  been  torn  away,  and  the 
dismayed  girl  could  only  apply  boracic  ointment  as 
something  harmless,  and  recommend  his  going  down 
to  a doctor  at  once.  But  before  he  went  he  assured 
her  solemnly  that  she  had  only  to  send  for  him  for 
the  future,  and  on  that  instant  he  would  come  up,  and 
up  till  now  he  has  kept  his  word.  He  is  afraid  some 
evil  thing  will  happen  to  him  if  he  does  not  shoe 
the  Kempshot  horses  the  moment  they  require  his 
services. 

All  over  the  country  are  dotted  little  churches, 
mostly  Baptist,  but  true  it  is  as  Huxley — was  it  not 
— once  said,  “ Man  makes  God  in  his  own  image.” 
The  damsel,  the  new  housemaid  making  my  bed 
on  the  verandah,  feelingly  remarked  upon  how  cold 
I must  be.  It  is  pleasantly  cool  towards  morning, 
that  is  the  most  that  can  be  said  for  it,  but  the  real 
truth  came  out  when  Sam  was  brought  outside  to 
share  in  the  delights  of  the  starlit  night. 


302 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


“ Poor  little  baby,”  sighed  Leonie,  “ Oh,  poor 
little  baby.  Missus  not  taking  him  outside  ? ” 

“ AVhy  not  ? ” 

“ Oh,  missus,”  in  shocked  tones,  bad  for  baby.” 

‘‘  But  why  ? ” 

Long  hesitation  — and  then  out  it  came.  “He 
small.  Dey  can  kill  him  easy.” 

It  was  very  startling.  “ Who  will  kill  him  ? ” 
Much  wriggling.  She  evidently  didn’t  like  to 
mention  it,  but  she  felt  the  case  was  desperate. 

“ Dem  tings  dat  walk  about  at  night.” 

“ What  things  ? ” 

We’d  seen  nothing  larger  than  a mongoose.  They 
may  go  about  at  night  for  all  I know,  they  certainly 
tore  about  the  grass  in  the  daytime,  but  I really 
did  not  think  by  the  hurried  manner  in  which 
they  declined  our  acquaintance  they’d  come  very 
near. 

She  paused,  wriggled  again,  rubbed  first  one  foot 
against  a neat  brown  leg  and  then  the  other,  put 
her  fingers  half  way  down  her  throat  and  whispered 
as  she  rolled  her  eyes — 

“De  duppies.” 

No ! One  couldn’t  smile,  she  was  so  desperately 
in  earnest,  so  really  concerned  for  the  sake  of  the 
little  helpless  baby.  We  older  women  might  chance 
things,  but  she  evidently  felt  it  was  playing  it  low 
down  on  the  baby  to  expose  him  to  such  risks. 

“ Oh,  duppies  ! There  aren’t  any  duppies.” 

“ Yes,  missus,”  and  her  eyes  turned  towards  where, 
on  the  shores  of  the  Caribbean,  the  Montego  Bay 
dead  lie  resting,  sleeping  their  long  last  sleep  amidst 
coco-palms  and  gorgeous  flamboyant  trees.  Oh,  a 
lovely  graveyard,  and  the  sea  breeze  sweeps  across 
it  in  the  daytime,  and  by  night  comes  whispering  the 
scented  wind  from  the  hills.  “ Dey  catch  yous  ” — she 


DUPPIES 


303 


grew  excited  and  slurred  her  words — tear  yous  to 
pieces.” 

We  are  naturally  brave.  ‘‘Ob,  Buffer  will  settle 
them.”  Buffer  being  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
bull  terrier  we  could  get  in  Jamaica,  a powerful 
and  handsome  white  dog. 

Again  she  shook  her  head  mournfully.  “Dey 
tear  him  to  pieces.” 

But  in  spite  of  all  we  slept  outside  and  she  shook 
her  head  mournfully,  “ Poor  little  baby  ! ” 

When  the  duppies  did  not  take  us  the  servants 
only  considered  for  some  reason  or  other  the  evil 
day  was  postponed.  No  one  liked  passing  that 
graveyard  a quarter  of  a mile  away  at  night. 

Indeed,  this  faith  in  evil  spirits  seems  pretty 
general,  even  among  people  who  are  a shade  higher 
in  the  social  scale  than  a house  servant. 

When  we  were  at  the  Hyde  and  Sam  was  very 
tiny,  we  used  to  put  him  in  his  cradle  on  the 
porch  outside  the  front  door,  and  leave  him  there 
to  sleep  in  the  fresh  air. 

To  me  one  day  came  the  “ Busha  ” of  the  estate, 
a brown  man,  who  naturally  held  a position  of 
authority. 

“Mrs  Gaunt,”  he  said  uneasily,  “the  baby  is 
alone.” 

“He’s  asleep.” 

“Yes,  I see  he’s  asleep.  But  Mrs  Gaunt — we 
never  leave  a baby  alone.”  Then  he  hesitated  quite 
a long  time  and  added,  “it’s  dangerous.” 

I thought  of  what  could  possibly  harm  a sleeping 
baby.  W e were  close  against  the  mountains.  Eagles  ? 
But  there  weren’t  any  eagles,  and  I didn’t  expect  they 
would  swoop  down  at  the  house  front  if  there  were. 
Turkey  buzzards?  Yes,  there  were  “John  Crows.”  I’d 
even  seen  the  birds  of  carrion  on  the  verandah  rails. 


304 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


‘‘Oh,  the  ‘John  Crows/  I never  thought  they’d 
hurt  him.” 

“ They  won’t.  They  won’t  touch  anything  alive. 
But,  Mrs  Gaunt,”  he  sank  his  voice  and  spoke  very 
slowly  and  impressively,  “we  never  leave  a baby 
alone.  We  believe  that  the  spirits  come  and  play 
with  them  and  it’s  bad.” 

He  was  evidently  afraid  that  as  a white  woman 
I would  laugh  at  this,  and  he  had  only  spoken  out 
of  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  because  the  baby  was 
in  danger.  But,  of  course,  I did  not  laugh.  Why 
should  I laugh  at  faiths  other  than  mine?  And 
so  encouraged,  he  told  me  of  the  spirits  he  had 
seen  in  broad  daylight,  spirits  that  clothed  them- 
selves as  his  friends,  and  only  when  he  came  up 
close  did  he  perceive  they  were,  as  he  put  it,  evil 
spirits. 

Well,  as  a matter  of  fact,  when  he  was  not 
likely  to  be  about  we  let  Sam  sleep  on  the  porch, 
and  outside  he  continued  to  sleep  at  night  in 
spite  of  Leonie’s  protest,  and  so  far  as  I can  see 
neither  duppy  nor  evil  spirit  ever  did  him  the 
least  harm,  dear  little  man.  In  fact  he  continued 
to  improve  till  he  was  the  fine  baby  of  the  district, 
and  I set  it  down  to  the  fresh  air  in  which  he 
lived  day  and  night.  I am  afraid  I wickedly  used 
the  faith  in  duppies  to  my  own  advantage.  Buffer 
hated  a black  man.  At  Montego  Bay  he  used  to 
sit  outside  the  gate  and  kindly  allow  people  to 
pass  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  but  if  they 
came  too  near  the  territory  he  was  guarding,  he 
stepped  out  and  held  them  up.  If  we  heard  a 
squeal  we  knew  it  was  a woman,  if  a howl,  a man, 
and  flew  to  the  rescue,  but  if  they  threw  stones  at 
him  it  almost  took  a motor  car  to  shift  him.  He 
had  a great  reputation,  and  there  was  no  predial 


A DUPPY  RAISER 


305 


larceny  round  my  house,  chickens  and  eggs  were 
quite  safe.  But  the  people  were  afraid  of  him,  and 
when  I went  for  a walk  with  Buffer  peacefully 
trotting  along  by  my  side,  for  he  wouldn’t  have 
dreamt  of  touching  anybody  away  from  his  own 
ground,  I was  more  than  once  met  by  a line  of 
furious  women  with  sticks  uplifted. 

“ Kill  1 kill ! ” they  shouted,  and  I thought  of  the 
old  days  when  they  would  have  killed  a white 
woman  if  they  could  and  not  only  her  dog.  It  was 
really  awe  inspiring.  I was  afraid  they  would  fling 
their  sticks  at  Buffer,  and  then  somebody  would 
be  hurt.  And  the  men  too  threatened,  ‘‘We  kill 
dat  dog ! ” 

I thought  they  would  do  it  too,  do  it  in  some 
cruel  and  lingering  fashion,  so  I threatened  in  my 
turn.  “ If  you  touch  that  dog  and  hurt  him  so  that 
he  has  to  die,  I warn  you  his  duppy  will  haunt  you, 
and  I tell  you  the  duppy  of  a big  white  dog  is  a 
much  worse  thing  than  the  dog  himself,  for  you  will 
not  be  able  to  get  rid  of  that ! ” 

And  I heard  afterwards  they  said,  “Missus  go 
put  him  duppy  on  we.”  And  I had  a reputation 
as  a duppy  raiser,  and  Buft’er  survived  till  I could 
get  him  away  to  Kempshot  Pen,  where  he  had 
more  range,  and  where  his  flghting  qualities  are 
much  valued  by  his  new  mistress. 

Still  is  the  faith  in  Obeah  strong  in  Jamaica. 
It  is  the  ju-ju  of  the  Coast,  and  all  the  historians 
have  many  tales  to  tell  of  its  dread  powers. 

In  the  year  1780,  the  parish  of  Westmoreland 
was  kept  in  a constant  state  of  alarm  by  a run- 
away negro  called  Plato,  who  had  established  him- 
self among  the  mountains  and  collected  a troop 
of  banditti,  of  which  he  was  the  chief.  He  robbed 
very  often  and  murdered  occasionally.  This  could 


306 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


not  be  allowed,  and  at  last  Plato  was  taken  and 
condemned  to  death.  He  told  the  magistrates  who 
condemned  him  that  his  death  would  be  revenged 
by  a storm  which  would  lay  waste  the  whole  island 
that  year,  and  when  his  negro  jailer  was  binding 
him  to  the  stake — he  was  evidently  burned  to  death 
according  to  the  ruthless  custom  of  the  time — he 
told  him  he  should  not  live  long  to  triumph  in  his 
death,  for  that  he  had  taken  good  care  to  Obeah 
him  before  quitting  prison. 

It  certainly  did 'happen,  strangely  enough,  says 
Matthew  Lewis,  that  before  the  year  was  over  there 
was  the  most  violent  storm  ever  known  in  Jamaica, 
and  as  for  that  jailer,  “his  imagination  was  so 
forcibly  struck  by  the  threats  of  the  dying  man, 
that  although  every  care  w^as  taken  of  him,  the 
power  of  medicine  exhausted,  and  even  a voyage 
to  America  undertaken  in  hopes  that  a change  of 
scene  might  change  the  course  of  his  ideas,  still 
from  the  moment  of  Plato’s  death  he  gradually 
pined  and  withered  away  before  the  completion  of 
the  twelvemonth.” 

Now  that  was  written  of  1780,  but  the  very 
morning  I wrote  it,  7th  March  1921  on  Kempshot 
Pen,  came  a stalwart  negro  to  see  Miss  Maxwell' 
Hall,  and  to  discuss  local  politics  with  her. 

“And  how  is  it,”  asked  the  young  lady,  “Daniel 
Cooper  is  such  a bad  man  now  ? He  won’t  work 
and  he  thieves.” 

“Missus,”  said  the  cultivator  solemnly,  “we 
sorry  for  him.  Can’t  blame  Daniel  Cooper.  Him 
can’t  help  it.  Him  put  so.  When  I go  to  Cuba 
him  good  boy  ” — the  gentleman  was  over  forty  even 
then — “an’  when  I come  back  dat  Charles  Henry 
put  him  so.  Dat  bad  man  Charles  Henry.  Make 
him  tief,  make  him  lie,  put  him  so.” 


“ PUT  SO  ” 


307 

So  Daniel  Cooper,  idle  scamp,  for  some  unknown 
reason  is  to  be  pitied  not  blamed,  because  it  is  a well- 
known  fact  that  Charles  Henry  is  an  Obeah  man. 

Obeah  is  a very  real  and  live  thing  in  the 
mountains  round  Montego  Bay.  But  Miss  Maxwell 
Hall  has  decreed  that  the  gentleman  who  has 
been  ‘‘put  so,”  whether  he  is  to  be  pitied  or  blamed, 
shall  not  come  on  her  land.  She  will  not  encourage 
Obeah. 

There  was  another  case,  a well-known  case  some 
years  ago.  A woman  with  two  sons  got  leave  to 
take  up  land  on  Kempshot.  She  put  the  boys  to 
clear  it,  and  as  they  worked  a man  came  and  said 
she  could  not  have  it.  Her  husband,  who  was  dead, 
owed  him  twenty  pounds,  and  he  was  taking  the 
land  instead.  Everyone  knew  it  was  a lie,  he  never 
had  twenty  pounds  to  lend  anybody.  But  as  the 
boys  worked  he  warned  them. 

“You  come  back  after  dinner,  see  what  happen 
to  you.” 

But  they  laughed  and  came  back. 

“You  no  come  to-morrow,”  threatened  the  man, 
and  sure  enough  next  day  both  boys  were  ill,  and 
while  one  died  the  other  has  been  an  idiot  ever  since. 

Again,  some  years  ago,  a maid-servant  refused  the 
advances  of  a man  she  disliked.  He  threatened  her. 

“You  no  come  to  me  I put  you  so.” 

But  she  laughed  and  tossed  her  head.  And 
that  night  she  was  taken  with  terrible  pains  that 
threatened  to  crush  the  life  out  of  her.  The  doctor 
was  sent  for,  an  English  physician.  He  said  he 
thought  the  girl  had  been  poisoned,  but  the  case 
baffled  him.  ISTo  remedy  that  he  could  think  of  had 
any  effect,  and  he  thought  she  must  die. 

Then  came  the  cook  to  her  master,  her  mistress 
happened  to  be  away. 


308 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


“Massa,”  said  she,  ‘‘Missus  very  fond  of 
Gloriana.” 

He  acquiesced.  The  girl  was  a favourite  with 
his  wife. 

“Massa,”  pleaded  the  cook,  “you  send  for 

Dr naming  a mulatto  doctor,  a Creole,  who 

had  taken  his  degree  in  America,  “he  can  cure 
Gloriana.” 

Her  master  looked  dubious.  If  the  man  with 
a good  Edinburgh  degree  could  do  nothing,  he  had 
small  faith  in  any  other  man.  But  the  cook  was 

determined.  “ Dr can  cure.”  Therelore  Dr 

was  sent  for.  Sure  enough,  the  new  man  looked 
at  the  girl,  heard  the  story,  went  round  the  garden, 
gathered  a leaf  here  and  a leaf  there,  made  a decoc- 
tion which  the  girl  drank,  and  presently  she  was 
well  again.  The  Creole  had  lived  in  the  island,  and 
had  grown  up  in  the  ways  of  the  negroes. 

But  Obeah  so  used  is  certainly  a very  terrible 
thing,  and  not  to  be  made  light  of  or  trifled  with. 

For  the  man  of  African  descent,  light-hearted 
and  happy  soul  as  he  is,  has  another  side  to  his 
character  which  must  not  be  overlooked,  and  which 
has  its  influence  on  his  life.  Ever  and  again  it 
peeps  out. 

One  day  Miss  Maxwell  Hall,  riding  among  the 
hills,  came  upon,  as  she  had  done  hundreds  of  times 
before,  a pleasant  little  river  which  full  to  the  brim, 
for  the  rains  had  been  heavy,  wandered  along  between 
plantations  of  sugar-cane.  Presently  she  came  to 
a gate,  and  as  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  to  do 
before,  she  opened  it  and  rode  in.  Tlie  river 
widened,  the  hills  closed  in,  and  tlie  trees  grew 
denser,  and  she  found  herself  riding  along  a dank, 
dark  path  overhung  with  rose-apple  trees  and 
mangoes,  and  as  these  trees  do  when  it  is  very 


BAPTISM  HOLE 


309 


damp,  all  the  leaves  were  turning  black  and  covered 
with  mildew,  the  river  ended  in  a dark  pool  under- 
neath, a pool  of  deep,  black  water  that  poured  itself 
away  underground.  The  groimd  was  sodden  and 
wet,  and  reeking  of  decay.  The  air  was  heavy  and 
contaminated,  and  the  black  leaves  of  the  rose- 
apple  trees  shut  out  the  light  and  were  themselves 
apparently  lifeless,  or  perhaps  rather  they  were 
reeking  with  a sinister,  evil  life.  Had  she  found 
a pool  where  witches  met,  or  where  the  Obeah  men 
wove  their  ghastly  spells  ? Her  very  horse’s  hoof- 
beats  were  muffled  in  the  foul  and  rotten  vegetation 
underfoot. 

She  made  her  way  back  into  the  brilliant  tropical 
sunshine,  which  was  but  a little  way  off.  Leaning 
against  the  gate  was  a man  idly  chewing  a bit  of 
sugar-cane. 

What  place  is  that  ? ” she  asked. 

He  looked  up  at  her. 

“It  belongs  to  de  church,”  he  said. 

“Belongs  to  the  church  ! ” she  said.  “ Then,  why 
on  earth  don’t  they  clear  away  some  of  those  mouldy 
old  apple  trees  ? ” 

“Huh!”  said  he,  “dey  likes  it  dat  way.  It 
be  Baptism  Hole  ! ” 

And  so  it  was,  the  place  used  for  one  of  the 
most  important  ceremonies  of  the  Baptist  church  1 

They  fear  still  these  people,  I am  afraid,  some 
of  them  some  unknown  terrible  power. 

At  Kempshot  Pen  there  is  an  observatory  built 
by  the  late  Mr  Maxwell  Hall,  who  installed  there 
a telescope,  because  he  was  an  astronomer.  Always 
his  daughter  used  to  help  her  father  in  his  lifetime, 
and  on  one  occasion  there  came  to  her  no  less  a 
person  than  the  schoolmaster  from  the  nearest 
village,  seeking  information  about  the  stars.  She 

X 


310 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


gave  bim  a couple  of  elementary  books,  and 
suggested  that  he  should  come  up  some  evening 
and  look  through  the  telescope.  He  came,  a black 
man,  immaculately  clad  in  a neat  tweed  suit,  a 
high  starched  collar,  a silken  tie  and — a machete 
was  concealed  under  his  arm  up  his  coat. 

His  hostess  was  very  much  astonished,  but  she 
said  nothing,  only  suggested  he  should  look  at  the 
full  moon  through  the  telescope.  He  assented, 
spent  an  instructive  evening,  and  then  over  rum 
and  water  and  cake  opened  his  heart. 

There  were  two  opinions  in  the  ^dllage,  he  said, 
and  he  himself  had  not  known  which  to  believe. 
One  was  that  the  squire  opened  the  roof,  and  putting 
up  the  long  tube  drew  do^vn  the  stars  and  examined 
them,  the  other  that  he  went  up  through  the  tube 
to  the  stars  and  moon  ! Now  he  knew. 

But,  mark  you,  what  a step  upward  it  means 
that  this  man  should  come  to  enquire,  oven  with 
a machete  under  his  arm. 

They  say  that  the  last  census  gave  half  the  people 
of  marriageable  age  in  Jamaica  as  married,  but  had 
I not  been  told  that,  I should  have  thought  with 
Lady  Nugent  that  the  Jamaican  woman  did  not 
think  much  of  matrimony.  What  she  does  want 
is  a child,  and  a child  she  very  often  has,  no  matter 
what  teachers  and  preachers  may  say  to  the  contrary. 
Sometimes  a couple,  when  they  have  got  over  the 
flush  and  restlessness  of  youth,  will  live  together 
peaceably  and  happily,  either  married  or  unmarried, 
but  the  average  Jamaican  peasant  girl — I do  not 
say  all,  but  many  certainly — wdll  often  have  a child 
before  she  settles  down.  As  in  Africa,  it  is 
motherhood  that  counts  first. 

I discussed  the  matter  with  Christy,  who  presided 
over  the  forlorn  stone-paved  cavern  called  a kitchen 


“HIM’S  FADER  WHITE  COLONEL’’  311 

when  I first  arrived  in  Jamaica.  Christy  was  a 
wild-looking  lady  with  her  hair  on  end,  bare  feet 
of  course,  and  a ragged  skirt.  She  had  been  comely 
in  her  own  way,  but  she  was  as  dirty  as  she  was 
unkempt,  and  decidedly  as  useless.  She  had,  how- 
ever, great  dramatic  powers  and  could  tell  a story. 
She  had  three  children  and  she  displayed  them 
with  pride. 

No  husband  was  in  evidence,  so  I concluded 
rashly  she  was  a widow. 

“ Oh  no,  missus.  My  husban’  he  get  intelligence 
an’  he  leflF  me.” 

I didn’t  wonder  at  his  leaving  her.  I was  only 
surprised  that  he  did  not  ‘'get  intelligence”  before 
she  had  three  children. 

“I  got  ’nother  chile,”  said  she,  as  if  fearing  these 
three  did  not  do  her  justice,  “a  white  chile.” 

I wasn’t  accustomed  to  Jamaican  ways  then  and 
I was  startled.  The  three  before  me  could  hardly 
have  been  blacker. 

"Him’s  fader  white  colonel,”  said  she  proudly, 
and  she  mentioned  a well-known  name  in  the  island, 
“him’s  fader  very  good  to  me.  Have  him  before 
I get  married.” 

I suppose  I looked  a little  surprised. 

"Not  do  that  in  England?”  asked  Christy,  seek- 
ing information,  and  I mendaciously  assured  her  that 
every  woman  in  that  favoured  land  waited  till  she 
went  to  church  and  wore  a ring  before  she  had  a 
child. 

I was  introduced  to  the  white  son  later  on,  a 
great  hulking  mulatto  with  rather  a sullen  air,  and 
I noticed  that  the  son  born  out  of  wedlock  was 
treated  with  great  respect  by  the  sister  and  brothers 
who  in  England  would  be  counted  the  more  fortunate. 
They  all  called  him  "massa.”  But  he  was  good 


312 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


to  his  wild-looking  mother,  and  brought  her  and 
her  family  many  presents.  I was  not  surprised  that 
she  was  very  proud  of  the  colonel’s  son. 

Then  came  Kebekah,  who  took  her  place  when 
we  could  stand  Christy  and  her  brood  no  longer. 

Rebekah  had  a child,  and  was  openly  proud  of 
him.  We  always  discussed  him  when  she  kneaded 
the  bread,  and  I stood  over  her  to  see  that  she  did 
it,  because  if  I had  not,  she  would  have  considered 
that  kneading  as  done. 

“ Missus  looking  lovely,”  said  Rebekah,  “ in  her 
pink  dress.”  Missus’  dress  wasn’t  pink  and  she 
didn’t  look  lovely,  but  I suppose  Rebekah  considered 
it  a good  way  to  open  the  morning.  Perhaps  if  I 
felt  she  considered  me  lovely,  I might  ease  up  on 
the  bread  kneading.  I never  did,  but  she  never 
failed  to  try.  Then  she  told  me  about  her  “chile.” 
“Yes,  missus,  de  fuss’  chile  I get  he  die.” 

“ Ah,  that  was  sad.  And  what  was  his  name  ? ” 

“ Him  name  Lily.  Den  I pray  to  the  Lard  an’ 
He  give  me  anoder.” 

“And  your  husband — ” I began. 

“Oh,  missus,  I get  no  husban’.  He’s  fader, 
Amos  Hussy,  very  good  man  he’s  fader,  help  me 
with  de  chile.” 

“ A white  man  ? ” I asked,  remembering  Christy’s 
colonel 

“Oh,  missus!” — she  stopped  kneading — “if  he 
white  I be  rich  woman.  He  a cultivator.  Very 
good  man.” 

But  Frances  the  laundry  woman  was  franker 
still  She  brought  with  her  her  son  “ Hedgar,”  aged 
eight,  and  she  explained — 

“ Hedgar’s  fader  veiy  proud  of  him,  tink  most 
of  Hedgar,  more’n  all  his  sons.  He  want  me  to 
leave  him  an’  he  keep  him,  but  I say  ‘ no.’  Hedgar  de 


NICE  FEELING 


313 


on’y  chile  I get,  mus’  keep  him,  an'  I get  no  work 
in  dat  country." 

That  far  country  was  about  twelve  miles  off. 

But  the  other  sons  were  a little  mystifying ; how- 
ever, she  kindly  explained,  being  a talkative  soul. 

‘‘  He  get  four  sons  by  four  women,  all  about  de 
same  age,  but  he  tink  most  of  Hedgar." 

I really  felt  a little  delicacy  about  pursuing 
enquiries  any  further,  but  Frances  felt  none.  It  was 
commonplace  to  her. 

'‘He  get  married,"  she  chortled,  "an'  his  wife 
give  him  no  chilluns  ! " 

Frances  let  me  in  for  sanctioning  immorality 
with  a vengeance.  She  had  a room  in  which  she 
and  Edgar  slept,  and  she  kept  herself  while  I paid 
her  the  magnificent  sum  of  7s.  a week.  Too  little,  I 
admit.  But  what  was  I to  do  ? It  was  higher  than 
the  wages  around,  and  she  certainly  wasn't  worth 
what  she  got.  Still  she  apparently  felt  no  lack, 
for  when  I saw  a strange  girl  about  the  place, 
I was  informed  it  was  Frances'  cousin  come  to  stay 
with  her  in  the  country  for  a change ! And  when 
the  cousin  was  gone,  seeing  I said  nothing,  she  came 
to  me  and  told  me  that  the  man  she  was  going 
to  marry  wanted  to  come  and  see  her. 

"An'  he  say,  missus,  he  want  to  come  like  a man 
an'  not  hidin’.  Say,  ask  missus,  let  him  come.” 

I was  struck  with  the  nice  feeling  on  the  man's 
part,  and  cordially  gave  my  permission,  though  I 
must  say  I was  surprised  at  its  being  asked. 

He  came  one  night  after  I had  gone  to  bed  and 
next  morning  he  was  engaged  in  chopping  wood  for 
the  cook.  And  then  I found  to  my  dismay  that  he 
and  Frances  and  Edgar  shared  her  room ! 

What  was  I to  say  ? My  leave  had  been  asked. 
So  I shut  my  eyes  and  said  nothing,  and  the  gentle- 


314 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


man  stayed  a fortnight,  and  then  sent  in  to  know 
what  present  I was  going  to  give  him  before  he  went 
away  ! 

I suppose  to  the  average  stay-at-home  middle- 
class  English  woman  this  state  of  things  sounds 
shockingly  immoral,  but  after  all  is  it  not  that  things 
are  here  done  openly  that  in  other  places  are  done 
under  the  rose. 

Up  and  down  Jamaica  have  I been,  and  I can 
honestly  say  that  the  average  Jamaican  peasant 
woman  looks  happy.  Nay,  she  looks  more  than 
happy,  for  happiness  may  be  a passing  condition, 
the  majority  of  the  Jamaican  peasant  women  look 
entirely  content.  There  is  no  unspoken  longing  in 
a peasant  woman’s  face,  she  is  quite  satisfied. 

‘‘Missus,”  said  Leonie  persuasively,  “me  kindly 
begging  you  leff  me  sleep  home.”  Now  Leonie  had 
sworn  by  all  her  gods  that  she  would  stay  at  her 
post  all  night,  so  enquiries  were  made  and  it  was 
found  “ me  cousin  ” was  going  to  have  a baby  in  six 
weeks,  and  as  it  was  her  first,  very  naturally  she  did 
not  like  being  alone  at  night.  But  what  about  her 
husband?  Oh,  she  hadn’t  a husband.  Whatever 
made  missus  think  that  ? The  father  ? “ Oh,  he 

nice  young  man,  he  helping  her  a lot,  but  he  too 
young,  not  worth  marrying.” 

“ Missus,  kindly  begging — ” insinuatingly. 

Well,  of  course,  Leonie  spent  her  nights  with 
the  expectant  young  mother,  and  everybody  was 
satisfied. 

The  real  trouble  is  that  these  poor  little  children 
thus  brought  into  the  world  are  often  not  properly 
looked  after.  How  can  a young  woman  keep  herself 
and  her  child  on  7s.  a week,  and  that  is  more  than  the 
majority  of  them  get?  And  so  often  it  ends  in  a 
pitiful  little  white  coffin  with  a forlorn  little  wreath 


“WHO,  AMONGST  US,  WOULD  DO  AS  MUCH”  315 


of  fern  upon  it,  carried  on  a man’s  shoulder  to  the 
graveyard.  I have  seen  them  often.  There  are  no 
followers,  though  the  Jamaican  loves  a funeral. 

‘‘Not  worth  while,”  said  Malvina  when  I asked 
why  no  one  went  to  the  poor  little  baby’s  funeral. 

Not  that  the  women  do  not  help  each  other. 
The  fat,  smiling  cook  at  Kempshot  who  could  make 
most  excellent  omelettes,  had  not  only  her  own  child 
to  keep,  but  two  of  her  dead  sister’s.  She  was  not 
married,  neither  had  the  sister  been.  But  will  any 
of  the  virtuous  venture  to  cast  a stone ! Who 
amongst  us  who  pride  ourselves  upon  our  decent 
lives  would  do  as  much.  But  again  the  difficulty 
crops  up.  Those  children  will  grow  more  and  more 
expensive.  How  can  she  start  them  in  the  world  ? 

Sometimes  these  children  are  “lent  out.”  It  is 
a curious  custom  in  the  country,  the  survival  of  the 
old  slave  days  when  there  were  numerous  stable 
helpers  and  servants  in  the  Great  House,  and  a 
child  was  sent  by  his  mother  there  and  became  the 
understudy  of  an  understudy,  and  so  learned  about 
horses  or  gardening  or  housework.  Now,  of  course, 
there  are  no  white  people  whose  houses  are  open 
in  such  fashion,  but  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  a 
child  to  be  “lent  out”  by  its  mother  to  some  small 
cultivator,  either  to  do  housework  or  to  work  in  the 
fields  for  his  or  her  food  or  clothes.  The  food  is 
plain  and,  often  like  the  clothes  I am  afraid,  scanty. 

Miss  Maxwell  Hall  was  called  out  one  morning 
to  interview  a miserable-looking  little  boy,  about  as 
high  as  the  table,  who  in  a ragged  shirt  and  pants 
stood  in  the  chill  of  early  morning  at  her  gate, 
holding  a still  more  miserable-looking  little  white 
dog  on  a string. 

He  had  come  to  see  missus,  he  said  ; he  had 
waited  all  night  to  see  her,  waited  in  the  cold  and 


316 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


wet,  poor  child,  for  it  is  cold  in  the  hills  to  these 

people.  His  mammy  had  lent  him  out  to  Mr 

‘‘over  on  the  hill  yander,’'  and  someone  had  given 
him  the  puppy,  which  he  loved  dearly.  And  every 
bone  in  that  poor  little  dog  was  plainly  visible, 
his  master  did  not  give  the  little  boy  much,  but  he 
provided  nothing  at  all  for  the  dog.  So  last  night 

Mr had  set  his  dinner  down  and  gone  out  for 

a moment,  and  while  he  was  away  the  little  starving 
dog  had  wolfed  the  lot  and  then  wisely  run  away 
and  hidden  in  the  bush.  Upon  the  small  owner  fell 
the  dinner-less  man's  wrath  and  he  beat  him,  beat 
him  with  a board  with  nails  in  it,  and  he  displayed 
to  the  horrified  girl  the  marks  of  that  castigation. 
Then  he  had  fled  away,  recovered  his  dog  and  come 
to  her  for  protection.  Poor  little  “ lent  out  ” child  ! 

But  all  masters  and  mistresses  are  not  so  cruel. 
Many  are  kindly  enough  and  share  what  they  have 
with  their  dependents.  The  trouble  is  that  they 
are  ignorant,  they  do  not  know  how  to  make  the 
most  of  the  opportunities  that  are  theirs. 

When  I lived  at  the  Hyde  among  the  hills  in 
Trelawny,  the  people  used  to  come  down  to  the 
Great  House  to  see  us  and  sell  us  eggs  and  fruit — 
often  I am  afraid  our  own  eggs  and  our  own  fruit — 
and  they  used  to  beg  a little.  Eetinella,  whom  I 
knew  had  fowls,  and  who  was  I think  honest,  used 
to  bring  a dozen  eggs  for  sale,  and  then  produce  a 
veiy  tiny  bottle. 

“Missus,  I kindly  begging  you  a little  scent, 
going  to  a wedding" — or  a funeral.  Both  these 
entertainments  required  perfuming,  and  there  were 
more  of  them  I am  sure  than  the  population  could 
possibly  stand. 

But  they  did  not  always  beg  and  they  did  not 
always  sell.  Sometimes  they  would  bring  a few 


“BRIDE  WANTED” 


“TO  MARRY.” 


317 


heads  of  corn,  a yam  or  a sour  sop,  and  when 
payment  was  offered  it  would  be,  “ Missus,  I kindly 
giving  it  you.  You  give  me  things,  you  never  let 
me  give  you  things.”  So  then  we  would  accept 
gratefully,  and  cast  about  to  see  what  return  could 
be  made  without  it  being  too  patent  that  we  were 
giving  something  for  value  received. 

The  town  man  likes  to  see  himself  in  print,  and 
not  only  the  letters  in  the  Gleaner,  the  principal 
Jamaican  paper,  but  the  advertisements  show  his 
sentiments. 

I think  the  first  thing  that  struck  me  was  the 
many  advertisements  for  straightening  the  hair. 
I am  accustomed  in  these  northern  latitudes  to 
see  many  prescriptions  offering  a permanent  wave 
that  no  damp  will  affect,  and  I have  seen  not  only 
women  but  young  men  with  their  hair  carefully 
“ Marcelled  ” with  the  curling  tongs,  so  why  I should 
be  amused  at  the  man  who  wants  the  kink  taken 
out  of  his  locks  I do  not  know.  There  are  certainly 
many  men  and  women  who  do  desire  it. 

But  where  the  coloured  man  really  spreads  him- 
self out  is  in  the  matrimonial  advertisements.  They 
are  a constant  source  of  delight. 

Sometimes  a lady  wants  to  be  married.  Here  is 
one  who  is  beginning  early — 


'‘To  Marry,”  the  advertisement  is  headed.  “A 
lady  eighteen  years  of  age  wants  a husband”  (no 
beating  about  the  bush,  plain  statement  of  fact) ; 
“must  be  from  a respectable  family.  Fair  or  white 
preferred.  Enclose  photograph ; please  send  name 
and  address. — Apply  Miss  G.,  c/o  Gleaner,  Kingston.” 

“Bride  Wanted,”  says  another  advertisement; 
but  the  gentleman  who  wants  has  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance.  “ To  correspond  with  a lady  of  some 


318 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


independent  means  with  the  view  of  marriage ; any 
colour  except  white,  must  be  good  at  sewing ; 
March  born  preferred.  — Apply  ‘Businessman,’ 
Williamsfield  P.O.” 

“Any  colour  except  white”  is,  of  course,  sheer 
defiance. 

But  it  is  the  advertisements  of  those  who  rather 
wish  the  knot  had  never  been  tied  that  are  the 
most  amusing. 

“Notice. — My  wife,  Sophia  Junor,  having  left  my 
home  from  the  31st  day  of  May  in  my  sick  bed, 
and  up  to  this  date  having  not  returned,  this  is 
to  warn  the  public  that  I do  not  hold  myself  re- 
sponsible for  any  debt  she  might  contract.  Matthias 
Junor,  Bath  P.O.,  Knockands.” 

Very  often  the  complaining  man  warns  the  public 
that  he  intends  to  marry  again,  as  “ I cannot  manage 
myself.”  Sometimes  he  puts  it  in  much  more 
grandiloquent  language. 

“My  wife,  Mrs  Henrietta  Scott,  has  not  been 
under  my  protection  for  the  last  twenty-one  years, 
1899  to  1920,  and  I am  not  aware  of  her  existence 
outside  of  Jamaica.  Unless  I am  put  in  possession 
of  information  as  to  whether  she  is  living  or  not, 
I shall  proceed  to  enter  into  contract  of  matrimony. 
Joseph  Scott,  Windward  Road,  Kingston,  12th 
July  1920.” 

On  other  occasions  the  lady  has  something  to  say 
on  the  subject. 

“Notice. — I,  Edith  Phinn,  hereby  beg  to  notify 
the  public  that  my  chief  cause  to  leave  my  husband 
was  this : He  has  ill-treated  me  and  threatened  to 
shoot  me  with  his  revolver,  and  I am  now  residing 


MATRIMONIAL 


319 


at  my  families  residence,  50  Cumberland  Road, 
Spanish  Town.” 

I do  like  “ my  families  residence.” 

And  yet  another  indignant  lady — 

“Notice. — I beg  to  inform  the  public  that  I have 
not  left  the  care  and  protection  of  my  husband  as 
stated  by  him”  (I  do  regret  that  I missed  his 
advertisement),  “and  furthermore  all  his  real  and 
personal  belongings  are  for  myself  and  his  four 
children.  We  are  living  in  his  home,  I never  left 
it  even  for  a day.  So  I therefore  warn  the  public 
not  to  transact  any  business  with  him  without 
my  consent. — (Mrs)  M.  E.  Sibblies,  Lewis  Store, 
Clonmel,  P.O.” 

A lady  who  can  take  care  of  herself ! 

I suppose  nobody  quite  realises  what  it  is  that 
appeals  to  a man  in  the  woman  he  takes.  Presum- 
ably there  is  usually  some  strong  attraction,  and 
yet  there  is  a story  told  in  Jamaica,  a perfectly 
true  story  I believe,  which  makes  me  feel  that  some 
people  are  either  easily  satisfied  or  exceedingly 
accommodating. 

There  were  brides  and  grooms  and  bridesmaids 
and  ushers,  and  much  excitement  and  confusion  and 
giggling,  but  the  parson  went  on  gravely  with  the 
ceremony,  trusting  by  his  correct  demeanour  to  bring 
these  dark  children  of  the  church  to  a realisation 
of  the  solemnity  of  the  sacrament  in  which  they 
were  taking  part.  But  they  would  not  calm  down. 

“I  think — ” he  began  severely,  when  the  last  words 
had  been  spoken,  but  an  usher,  who  had  been  par- 
ticularly objectionable,  interrupted  him,  and  he  gave 
him  the  attention  now  he  had  denied  him  during  the 
service. 


320 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


“ But  sah,  but  minister,”  stammered  the  excited 
gentleman  in  a high  collar,  “you’s  married  de  wrong 
woman  on  to  de  wrong  man  ! ” 

Now  I,  being  a common-sense  heathen,  should 
have  been  tempted  to  say,  like  the  clergyman 
officiating  at  Easter-time  marriages  in  the  Potteries, 
when  ten  or  twelve  couples  are  married  at  once, 
“Now,  sort  yourselves.”  It  seems  to  me  it  is  the 
intention  that  counts.  But  our  clergyman  was  made 
of  different  stuff.  He  ffimily  believed  he  had  bound 
indissolubly  men  and  women  who  did  not  desire 
each  other,  and  in  much  consternation  he  retired 
to  his  study  and  sat  there  with  his  head  in  his 
hands,  wondering  what  on  earth  he  should  do. 

Meanwhile,  the  wedding  party  also  discussed 
the  matter.  And  presently  the  much-troubled  parson 
heard  a tap  at  his  door. 

“Come  in,”  he  said  gloomily,  and  in  came  the 
wedding  parties,  all  wreathed  in  smiles. 

“Well,  minister,”  said  the  spokesman  amiably, 
“we’s  been  tarkin’  an'  tarkin'  an'  we's  'greed  to 
mak'  ta  change  ! ” 

And  the  parson  was  mightily  relieved.  He  did 
not  understand  how  lightly  matrimony  sits  upon 
the  negro. 

But  that  surely  was  nothing  to  the  predicament 
of  the  lady  who  took  her  baby  to  be  christened, 
and  announced  at  the  font  in  answer  to  the  question, 
“ How  do  you  name  this  child  ? ” 

“Call  de  chile  Beel-ze-bub.” 

“ Oh,  but  that's  not  a proper  name  for  a child,” 
cried  the  horrified  minister. 

The  proud  mother  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

“ But  I get  him  outer  de  Bible.” 

“But  I tell  you  it's  a wicked  name,”  asseverated 
the  minister. 


DREADFUL  SCANDAL  OF  BEELZEBUB  321 

She  sighed.  All  the  trouble  to  be  gone  through 
again. 

“Den,  minister,  what  I call  him  ? ” 

“Well,  call  him  John  if  you  want  a Bible  name. 
That’s  in  the  Bible.” 

Still  the  woman  felt  vaguely  there  was  something 
wrong. 

“You  sure  dat  good  name  for  him,  minister” 
— very  earnestly. 

“Oh  yes,  quite  sure,”  said  the  minister,  anxious 
to  put  as  far  behind  them  as  possible  the  dreadful 
scandal  of  Beelzebub. 

So  John  the  baby  was  christened,  and  the  mother 
carried  it  outside  and  the  minister  came  out  and 
did  the  benevolent  pastor  to  her  and  her  friends. 

“De  chile’s  name  am  John,”  announced  the 
mother. 

“Hool  John!”  snorted  a neighbour  with  more 
knowledge,  “ but  amn’t  de  piccaninny  a gal  ? ” 
And  sure  enough  she  was. 

Leonie,  being  sent  on  a message,  returned 
nonchalantly  and  empty-handed. 

“But,  Leonie,  where’s  the  parcel?”  Leonie 
smiled  non-committally. 

“But,  surely,  if  they  didn’t  give  you  a parcel 
they  gave  you  a letter?” 

“Oh  yes,  missus,”  agreed  Leonie  readily,  “dey 
give  me  a paper  but  he  lose  he’s  self  on  de  way  up.” 
And  of  course  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 

My  wrath  was  as  nothing  to  the  wrath  of  a 
lady  who  wanted  a pergola  made  exactly  like  one 
she  had  already  that  had  been  up  for  three  or  four 
years  and  was  nicely  covered  with  roses. 

She  took  the  negro  carpenter  and  showed  him 
the  pergola,  measured  it  under  his  eyes,  gave  him  the 
measurements  and  the  lumber,  and  left  him  to  make 


322 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


another  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  Then,  alas, 
she  went  away  for  the  day.  When  she  came  back, 
to  her  horror  and  dismay  she  found  her  original 
pergola,  all  covered  with  its  nicely-tended  creepers — 
the  work  of  years — had  been  taken  down,  stripped  of 
its  greenery,  laid  on  the  ground,  and  the  thoughtful  and 
careful  carpenter  was  engaged  in  measuring  it  so  as  to 
make  the  new  one  exactly  like  it ! What  she  said  1 
don't  know,  but  incidents  like  this  help  me  to  under- 
stand the  punishments  the  slaves  received  of  yore. 

This  same  woman's  husband  happened  to  say 
casually  to  his  carter  that  he  would  want  him  to  go 
into  Montego  Bay,  16  miles  away,  the  next  day. 
Next  day  he  found  carter  and  team  missing,  and 
could  only  use  bad  language.  They  did  not  retm-n 
till  long  after  dark. 

“Well,  boss,”  said  the  driver  cheerfully,  “I  been 
to  Kerr's,  an'  I been  to  Hart's,  an'  I been  to — ” 
and  he  mentioned  half  a dozen  places — “an'  I wait 
an'  wait,  an'  I wait,  an'  I go  back  an'  dey  none 
get  nothen'  for  yous.” 

“Why,  you  fool,”  said  his  angry  master,  “you 
ought  to  have  come  to  me,  I had  something  I wanted 
you  to  take  into  town.” 

After  all,  the  uneducated  negro  is  not  the  only 
fool  in  the  world,  and  though  I laugh,  I feel  very 
kindly  towards  the  sinners. 

But,  sometimes,  their  foolishness  harmed  them- 
selves, though  I am  bound  to  say  that  was  not  their 
view  of  the  case. 

One  of  my  neighbours,  a very  kindly  American, 
being  told  by  her  boy  that  he  wanted  to  go  off 
early  on  Christmas  Day,  thoughtfully  asked  him  if 
he  would  then  rather  have  the  money  instead  of 
the  Christmas  dinner.  He  considered  a moment, 
and  to  her  surprise  elected  to  have  the  dinner. 


‘•IN  DISH  PUDDING  HAB  TWO  MASTERS”  323 

On  Christmas  Day,  immediately  after  the  first 
breakfast,  which  is  very  early  in  the  tropics — seldom 
after  seven,  often  long  before — she  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  give  her  orders  for  the  day,  and  there 
to  her  great  surprise  she  saw  her  boy  tucking  into 
his  Christmas  dinner  which  the  cook  had  cooked 
for  him. 

“Me  eating  it  now,  missus,”  he  explained  with 
a grin. 

“ But,  Howard ! ” cried  the  lady,  “ how  can 
you  possibly  eat  your  dinner  immediately  after 
breakfast  ? ” 

“Wanting  a long  day,”  he  explained,  and  the 
explanation  seemed  to  him  perfectly  natural. 

His  mistress  knew  that  boy.  There  is  a negro 
pudding  made  of  grated  coconut,  coconut  milk,  corn- 
meal  and  sugar,  baked.  Not  a bad  pudding  if  a 
little  is  taken,  but  Howard  one  day  got  outside 
a large  pie-dish  full,  and  then  came  rubbing  his 
stomach  and  groaning  to  his  mistress. 

“Why,  Howard,”  she  said  a little  severely,  “I 
should  think  you  did  have  indigestion.  Why  didn't 
you  put  half  that  pudding  away  till  to-morrow  ? ” 

“ Ah,  missus,”  he  said,  “ when  he  in  dish,  pudding 
hab  two  masters.  Now ” No,  words  were  un- 

necessary. He’d  certainly  got  that  pudding. 

I suppose  his  case  was  on  a par  with  that  of 
the  woman  servant  in  the  same  place  who,  usually 
going  barefoot,  appeared  on  that  same  Christmas 
morning  of  1920  in  a pair  of  elaborate  boots,  very 
high-heeled  and  much  too  small  for  her.  She  could 
hardly  totter  when  she  came  to  wish  her  master 
and  mistress  a happy  Christmas  before  setting  out 
on  her  holiday.  Her  mistress  said  nothing.  She 
had  exhausted  herself  over  Howard,  but  her  husband, 
the  old  doctor,  took  it  upon  himself  to  remonstrate. 


324 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


‘‘  Oh,  Alice,  how  can  you  wear  such  boots ! ” 

“ O’ny  for  to-day,  doctor,”  she  said  insinuatingly, 
‘‘  on’y  jus’  for  to-day  ! ” A long  holiday  meant  for 
enjoyment,  in  boots  too  tight  for  her,  with  heels 
raised  at  least  a couple  of  inches — imagine  the 
agony  of  it. 

But  if  the  ignorant  negro  is  foolish,  his  foolish- 
ness is  as  nothing  sometimes  to  that  of  the  white 
man  who  sets  out  to  help  and  improve  him. 

Britain  is  not  always  wise  in  the  Governors  she 
chooses,  though  the  Governor  in  a small  community 
is  a powerful  means  to  good.  There  was  one  well- 
meaning  man  in  an  island  that  shall  be  nameless,  who 
was  certainly  most  desirous  to  help  the  black  people, 
therefore  it  occurred  to  him  one  day  to  send  a telegram 
to  a rich  planter  of  his  acquaintance,  asking  him  to 
come  and  see  him  as  he  had  something  of  importance 
to  discuss  with  him.  Now,  a request  from  a Governor 
is  almost  a royal  command,  but  our  planter  knew 
his  Governor.  He  was  busy,  and  he  did  not  there 
and  then  dash  off  and  travel  the  many  miles  that 
lay  between  him  and  Government  House.  Still, 
since  his  estate  was  a long  way  off,  he  came  at 
some  inconvenience  to  himself. 

And  the  first  greetings  over : 

'‘You  have  the  welfare  of  your  people  at  heart, 
Mr ?” 

"Surely,  sir.” 

"I  wanted  to  know — would  you  be  prepared  to 
put  up  a picture  show  ? ” 

" On  my  place,  sir  ? ” 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,  for  the  benefit  of  your 
hands.” 

" But — but I’m  at  least  five-and-twenty  miles 

from  the  port,  and  the  port  is  at  least  six  days 
from  New  York,  and ” 


DANCES  BY  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOON  325 

‘‘  Yes,  of  course,  I know  that.” 

‘‘  And  where  am  I to  get  fresh  pictures  ? ” 

The  Governor  looked  attentive. 

“ They  would  come  to  the  first  show,”  explained 
the  planter  patiently,  “and  enjoy  it,  they  would  come 
to  the  second  night,  the  third  night  they’d  grumble, 
and  after  that  they’d  laugh  at  me  for  a fool.” 

“H’m — ha — h’m.  Well,  what  about  dancing? 

They’re  fond  of  dancing?” 

“ Of  course.” 

“ Would  you  put  them  up  a dancing  hall  ? ” 

“ With  a floor  ? ” 

“ Of  course.” 

And  the  planter  sighed  again  for  his  wasted  time, 
for  everyone  — except  this  Governor  apparently  — 
knows  that  the  West  Indian  negro  dances  every 
night  of  his  life  very  happily  on  the  bare  earth  by 
the  light  of  the  stars  or  the  moon ! And  I agree 
with  the  planter  such  exercise  is  a great  deal  more 
wholesome  taken  in  the  fresh  air  as  the  plantation 
hands  are  content  to  take  it. 

That  planter  went  home  an  angry  man,  and  he 
was  met  by  his  still  more  angry  head  man,  who  had 
taken  his  boots  to  be  mended. 

“Massa — massa — ” he  stammered  furiously,  “dat 
man — dat  tief — boots  no  mended — he  wearing  dem. 
Massa — massa,  can  I have  him  up  for  breach  of 
promise  ? ” 

But  if  anyone  is  really  interested  in  peasant  life 
in  Jamaica  he  should  read  the  books  of  Herbert 
de  Lisser,  C.M.G.,  whose  country  will  some  day 
be  deeply  grateful  to  him  that  he  has — among  other 
things  he  has  done  for  her  — portrayed  to  the  life  a 
type  that  is  rapidly  passing  away. 

Mr  Harrison,  the  Gustos  of  Manchester,  tells  me 
that  the  negro  is  becoming  proud.  It  is  the  first  step 

Y 


326 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


upward.  He  will  not  always  beg,  however  great  his 
need.  He  will  not  if  he  can  help  it  acknowledge  his 
poverty.  He  told  me  how  upon  one  of  his  sugar 
estates  he  found  that  for  some  time  the  cook  he 
had  engaged  to  cook  for  the  working  women,  who 
were  supposed  to  provide  the  material  for  breakfast, 
had  nothing  to  do.  The  women  had  no  food  to  be 
cooked.  But  they  never  complained,  hungry  they 
quietly  went  to  work.  He  therefore  instructed  his 
“busha"’  to  supply  yams  or  plantains  or  cocos  and 
coconut  oil  sufficient  for  a good  breakfast  for  each 
woman.  They  accepted  it  gratefully,  and  they  did 
a far  better  day’s  work  afterwards.  This  same 
gentleman  told  me  how  the  little  children  are  like 
their  parents,  becoming  proud  and  self-respecting. 
They  are  very  poor  in  that  parish  where  a former 
wasteful  generation  has  denuded  the  mountains  of 
trees  to  grow  coffee,  and  so  interfered  with  the 
rainfall — but  do  you  think  the  children  are  going  to 
acknowledge  their  poverty  ? Oh,  they  have  taken 
their  dinners  to  school,  and  if  you  doubt  it,  they 
hold  up  their  little  tin  pails  proudly.  Not  for  worlds 
would  they  take  off  the  cover  and  show  that  inside 
is  that  most  uninteresting  of  all  foods,  cold  boiled 
yam  and  not,  I am  afraid,  sometimes  enough  of  that. 

No  one  will  ever  taunt  such  women  and  children 
with  being  servile.  Never ! 

As  I write  this,  I come  across  an  extract  from 
an  old  writer  on  the  negro  slave  which  is  worth 
quoting,  the  contrast  is  so  great. 

“Negroes,”  he  says,  “are  crafty,  artful,  plausible, 
not  often  grateful  for  small  services,  deceitful,  over- 
reacliing  . . . they  are  avaricious  and  selfish,  giving 
all  the  plague  they  can  to  their  white  rulers,  little 
ashamed  of  falsehood  and  even  strongly  addicted 
to  theft.”  But  still  even  he  admits  “he  has  some 


HON.  MARCUS  GARVEY 


327 


good  qualities  mingled  with  his  unamiable  ones. 
He  is  patient,  cheerful  and  commonly  submissive, 
capable  at  times  of  grateful  attachments  where 
uniformly  well  treated,  and  kind  and  affectionate 
towards  his  kindred  and  offspring.^'  And  he  goes  on 
to  say  how  tender  are  the  negro  mothers.  In  fact, 
even  he  had  to  acknowledge  that  the  great  bulk  of 
the  negroes  were  beyond  the  master’s  observation, 
and  we  of  later  date  can  see  for  ourselves  that  the 
faults  he  complains  of  are  not  peculiar  to  negroes, 
but  are  the  common  faults  of  the  slave. 

As  yet,  however,  the  man  of  African  race  is 
often  something  of  a slavish  imitator  of  things 
European.  He  struts  and  boasts  of  his  progress 
exactly  as  children  do.  After  all,  he  has  had  such 
a toilsome  way  to  climb  since  Britain  bestowed  upon 
him  freedom  and  poverty,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at 
if  occasionally  he  has  gone  a little  astray. 

A little  while  ago  the  Hon.  Marcus  Garvey 
visited  Jamaica,  and  black  Jamaica  celebrated  his 
arrival  by  a full  page  advertisement  in  the  Gleaner 
with  a very  large  picture — a little  smeared  in  the 
printing — of  the  gentleman  in  question,  the  most 
noticeable  feature  of  which  was  his  large  expanse  of 
white  waistcoat. 

“Big  Meetings  & Concerts”  (announced  the  adver- 
tisement in  largest  type)  “Arranged  All  Over 
THE  Island  to  Hear  Hon.  Marcus  Garvey. 
Elected  Provisional  President  of  Africa,  President 
General  of  the  Universal  Negro  Improvement 
Association  and”  (oh  bathos!)  “President  of 
the  Black  Star  Line  Steamship  Corporation. 

“ He  will  be  in  Jamaica  nine  days  and  will 
speak  as  follows ” 

And  then  a list  is  given  of  the  places  at  which  he 


328 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


will  speak,  and  the  subjects  on  which  he  will  speak, 
and  it  also  announces  that  as  President  General  of 
his  Association  he  will  appear  on  these  nights  in  his 
robes  of  office. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  page  it  says  in  large  type 
that  Marcus  Garvey  was  elected  by  twenty-five 
thousand  delegates  to  the  World  Convention  of 
Negroes  in  New  York  last  summer  as  the  First 
Pro^dsional  President  of  Africa. 

This  is  delicious ! I don’t  want  to  laugh  at  the 
black  man,  but  I think  it’s  a serious  clog  on  his 
upward  career  to  elect  Presidents  in  this  casual 
manner.  I have  seen  the  only  attempt  at  modern 
civilised  government  in  Africa  by  the  black  man,  and 
I can  only  condemn  it  as  a dismal  failure,  why,  then, 
should  the  men  of  negro  descent  take  upon  them- 
selves to  elect  for  the  negroes  in  Africa  a President 
without  a with  or  by  your  leave.  It  is  really  much 
as  if  the  Americans  in  New  York  decided  to  elect  a 
President  General  of  Europe  or  Asia  without 
reference  to  the  feelings  of  the  peoples  of  those 
continents.  Of  course,  it  mav  be  merelv  a term  of 
endearment — if  so,  I have  nothing  to  say  against 
it.  Everybody  to  their  taste.  President  of  the 
Negro  Improvement  Association  is  quite  another 
matter.  We  all  wish  that  society  well,  so  well  we 
would  not  have  it  weakened  by  any  comic  opera 
blandishments,  and  President  of  the  Black  Star 
Line  is  quite  legitimate,  even  though  it  is  a little — 
well — just  a little  consequential,  for  the  “ Black  Star 
Line”  is  composed  as  yet  of  but  one  steamer,  the 
Yarmouth^  under  1000  tons.  The  first  time  she  came 
into  Kini^ston  harbour,  black  Kingston  went  hvsterical 
with  delight.  That  a ship  should  sail  with  a black 
captain,  and  manned  by  a black  crew,  seemed  to  it 
an  amazing  thing.  When  the  dark  man  makes  a 


“WE  ARE  CHILDREN  AS  YET 


329 


fuss  over  a ship  run  by  his  own  people,  he  is 
saying  in  effect — '^We  are  children  as  yet,  but  you 
see  we  are  growing  up.  We  are  coming  into 
our  own.” 

It  seems  to  me  the  negro's  great  fault  is  that  he 
is  bombastic  and  claims  too  much.  Marcus  Garvey 
and  his  crowd  are  I suppose  the  natural  reaction 
from  the  years  of  ghastly  slavery,  when  a black  man 
could  not  even  own  himself.  Of  course  we  only 
notice  those  who  come  strutting  ridiculously  before 
the  footlights.  I know  there  is  many  and  many  a 
negro  as  decent,  upright,  and  self-respecting  a man 
as  his  white  confrere,  but  the  trouble  is  we  do  not 
notice  him  beside  his  more  boastful  brother. 

<r 

That  the  negro  does  want  his  interests  looking 
after  I have  not  the  slightest  doubt.  Our  servants 
used  to  come  to  Eva  who  was  clever  with  her 
needle  to  cut  out  their  clothes  for  them,  and  it  was 
wicked  to  see  the  stuff  which  those  poor  girls,  whose 
pay  was  only  6s.  and  7s.  a week,  used  to  buy  at 
ridiculously  high  prices.  I have  seen  Is.  6d.  and 
Is.  9d.  a yard  paid  for  unbleached  calico  that  could 
not  possibly  have  cost  the  seller  l^d.  a yard.  And 
it  had  been  bought  at  a negro  shop,  they  were,  in 
fact,  imposed  upon  by  men  of  their  race. 

How  these  things  are  to  be  corrected  I know 
not.  Education  I suppose,  and  education  we  must 
remember  is  not  the  mere  teaching  of  reading  and 
writing.  I am  sorry  to  say  I doubt  sometimes  if  the 
authorities  in  Jamaica  are  giving  the  Jamaican  the 
best  education  that  they  can. 

'‘Dear  Mrs is  so  good.”  That  is,  good  for 

the  negroes.  They  wouldn’t  even  ask  her  to  dinner 
because  she  is  not  amusing.  They  would  laugh 
very  much  at  the  idea  of  themselves  subscribing 
to  her  standards  of  life. 


330 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


No  wonder  we  get  inflated  gentlemen  proclaiming 
themselves  ‘‘  Pro^dsional  President  of  Africa ! ” 

For  the  negro  is  capable  of  better  things.  It 
is  a great  shame  that  certain  of  his  numbers  should 
make  him  a laughing-stock. 

When  first  the  idea  of  contingents  of  West 
Indian  soldiers  for  the  World  War  was  mooted, 
there  was  opposition.  It  would  be  such  a bad  thing 
for  the  negro,  it  would  give  him  an  extravagant 
idea  of  his  own  value,  the  country  on  the  return 
of  its  soldiers  might  look  forward  to  discontent  in 
a certain  section,  might  even  fear  outrage  and  rapine. 

But  I think  the  contrary  has  been  the  case. 
Exceptions  of  course  there  must  have  been.  I should 
not  like  to  set  out  to  count  the  exceptions  among 
the  white  returned  soldiers,  but  the  average  Jamaican 
soldier  settled  down  quietly  to  his  work  in  his  own 
country,  worked  all  the  better  because  he  had  been 
counted  a citizen  of  the  Empire,  was  proud  that 
his  thews  and  sinews  had  helped  mightily  in  the 
great  struggle,  was  glad  to  be  received  at  last  on 
equal  terms  by  men  of  the  colour  that  so  long  had 
held  him  in  bondage. 

I hold,  and  hold  very  strongly,  that  the  very 
first  step  in  the  upraising  of  either  a man  or  a people 
is  the  cultivation  of  proper  pride. 

Read  this  letter  I received  from  a doctor  in  the 
Cameroons  during  the  war — 

“ Certainly  the  wickedest  three  hours,*’  he  wrote 
concerning  a night  attack  up  country,  ‘‘I  ever  put  in.” 
We  could  not  guess  the  range  in  the  cloudy  moon- 
light. The  Germans  held  a hill,  we  had  not  a scrap 
of  cover,  the  breast-high  grass  prevented  charging, 
and  also  made  the  men  stand  up  to  shoot.  By 
6*30  A.M.  the  Germans  cleared  out  precipitately, 
leaving  us  in  possession  of  a very  good  camp. 


TMORU  CALFA 


331 

“The  men  were  splendid.  Tmoru  Calfa,  a 
sergeant-major,  shot  through  the  spine  high  up, 
lay  down  by  his  section  and  controlled  their  fire. 
He  died  next  day.  His  was  only  one  instance 
of  their  conduct.” 

When  the  Great  Eoll  is  called,  not  among  the 
least  surely  will  be  found  the  name  of  that  sergeant, 
pagan  from  the  north  of  the  Gold  Coast,  who,  being 
shot  high  up  in  the  spine,  lay  down  beside  his  men, 
controlled  their  firing  and  died  next  day.  Not  the 
Unknown  Warrior  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey 
could  have  done  more. 

Which  man  will  the  negro  race  in  future  years 
think  upon  more  gladly  as  its  representative,  Marcus 
Garvey  or  Tmoru  Calfa  ? 

The  coming  of  the  negro  race  to  the  New  World 
marks  a most  extraordinary  phase  in  the  world's 
history.  They  came  unwillingly  as  slaves,  and  as 
slaves  they  were  held  with  all  the  ignominy  insepar- 
able from  that  condition.  Of  the  race  in  America 
I know  nothing  save  what  little  I have  seen  in  the 
streets  of  New  Orleans,  where  they  seem  as  far  apart 
from  the  ruling  race  as  the  mountain  tops  in  Jamaica 
are  from  the  river-beds.  But  in  Jamaica,  whatever 
there  may  have  been  in  the  old  days,  there  is  now 
no  such  cleft.  There  is,  of  course,  a difference, 
but  it  is  a difference  that  is  passing,  that  will  pass 
as  the  years  go  on  and  the  dark  man  fits  himself 
to  take  his  place  in  the  world  as  the  social  equal 
of  the  white. 

Already  he  sits  in  the  Legislature.  He  has 
come  a long,  long  way  up  from  the  chained  savage 
brought  in  the  slave  ships.  I hope  that  if  a dark 
man  reads  this  book  he  will  not  think  unkindly  of 
me  for  writing  as  if  there  were  a difference  between 
black  and  white.  There  is,  it  would  be  foolish  to 


332 


JAMAICA  AS  I SAW  IT 


ignore  it,  but  it  is  only  the  difference  of  education 
and  training.  We  must  remember  that  in  past  ages 
the  Anglo-Saxon  stood  in  the  market-place  in  Rome 
chained  and  in  slavery,  that  blue  eyes  and  flaxen 
hair  marked  the  savage,  and  dark  complexion  and 
black  eyes  the  civilised  man.  The  time  of  servitude 
of  the  black  man  is  a little  closer.  He  has  to  come 
up  the  same  stony  path  that  the  white  man  trod, 
and  he  will  do  it  more  easily  and  more  quickly — 
he  is  doing  it — because  the  white  man  has  prepared 
the  way. 

And  I say  that  deliberately,  knowing  all  the 
hardships  that  the  white  man  has  inflicted,  for  when 
I talk  of  the  time  of  servitude  of  the  blacks  in  the 
West  Indies,  you,  my  readers,  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  own  that  I have  by  no  means  glossed  over  the 
crudities  and  the  foolishness  and  the  brutality  of  men 
of  my  own  colour.  But  the  world  is  changing, 
changing  fast.  It  is  a better  place  to  live  in  in 
this  twentieth  century,  it  will  be  a better  place 
still  as  the  years  roll  on,  and  the  black  man  like 
the  white  will  come  into  his  own. 


INDEX 


Accommodating  bridal  party,  319 
Advertisements,  matrimonial,  317 
Annamabu,  84,  85,  90,  96,  101 
Arms  and  ammunition  stored,  155 

“ Bad  manners,”  227 
Baptism  by  bargain,  239 
Hole,  309 
in  high  vogue,  241 
Baptist  War,  242 

Baptists,  said  to  preach  sedition, 
241 

Barrett,  Custos  at  St  Ann’s,  and 
the  Colonial  Church  Union, 
257 

Bayley,  Zachary,  and  the  Great 
Eebellion,  156,  160,  161,  166 
“ Black  Family,”  242 
Bleby,  Kev.  H.,  a slave  martyr, 
247 

punishment  of  cruel  slave 
holders,  250 
slave  revolts,  247 
Bondsmen,  white,  33 
arrival  of  negroes  enhances  value 
of,  54 

clothing  and  food,  51 
cruelly  ill-used,  50 
low  status,  52 
premature  death,  56 
price  of  an  artizan,  49 
Bridges,  Rev.  G.,  attitude  of  the 
Church  of  England,  238 
Great  Rebellion,  157 
opinion  of  the  negro,  222,  287 
slaves  of  the  Spaniard,  23 
Buried  treasure,  28,  29,  30,  31,  32 

833 


Colonial  Church  Union,  dissen- 
sion between  and  Dissenters, 
254 

Colour  Question,  76,  225,  263 
Columbus,  diflSculties  faced  by,  3, 
6,  7,  8 

Corsairs,  English,  French,  Dutch, 
Portuguese,  15,  16 
Creole,  a beautiful,  78 

Dances,  192,  323 
De  Lisser,  Herbert,  325 
Duppies,  302 

Edwaeds,  Bryan,  brutality  of  the 
negro,  224 

Great  Rebellion,  159-163 
superiority  of  the  Koromantyns, 
128 

Empire,  serving  the,  287 
Enquirer,  an,  280 
Evil  spirits,  303 

Feae,  152,  164,  184 

Geeat  Houses,  30 

Hans  Sloane,  climate,  60 
country  life,  58,  59 
diseases,  61 

fertility  of  Jamaica,  25 
modern  healer,  71 
slaves  and  their  punishments, 
66,  67 

Spanish  remains,  64 
treasure  ships,  69 


334  INDEX 

Houses  built  with  a view  to  de-  Lewis,  Matthew,  opinion  of  the 
fence,  17  country,  220 

Hyde,  lent  by  Clarence  Lopez,  16  slaye  villages,  132 
visitors  at,  316  unjust  overseer,  220 


IirvENTOEY  of  overseer’s  house,  32 
Isolation  of  pens  and  estates,  130 

Jamaica,  African  customs,  230 
beautiful  sea,  7 
distances  in,  36 
first  pirates  in,  10 
marked  characteristic  of,  282 
mode  of  carrying  in,  96 
unlucky  land,  5 

Judgment  against  the  planters, 
223 

Kempshot,  168 

cattle  pen  of  Charlotte  Maxwell 
Hall,  287,  288,  289 
loveliest  view  in  Jamaica,  289 
milk  walk,  289 
Koromantyn  Castle,  81 
Koromantyns,  rising  invariably 
headed  by,  81,  160 

Las  Casas,  Spanish  cruelty  to 
Indians,  13 
Lent  out  children,  315 
Lesley,  Jamaica  in  1700,  42,  154 
clothing  of  negro  slave  women, 

146 

planter’s  daughter,  55 
underfed  slaves,  151 
white  bondsmen,  48 
Lewis,  Matthew,  abolition,  259 
abolition  of  the  whip,  221,  222 
dangerous  innovations,  226 
difllculty  of  getting  rid  of  a bad 
slave,  231 

English  labourer  and  Jamaican 
slave  compared,  231 
forbad  the  Methodists  his  estate, 
242 

morals  of  the  white  man,  131 
mortality  among  the  children, 

147 

Obeah  man,  231 


Madden,  Abolition  Day,  268 
another  side  of  slavery,  270 
coloured  mistresses,  267 
coloured  relatives,  264 
eating  and  drinking,  260 
nature  of  an  oath,  260 
negro  minister,  261 
negroes  of  his  day,  262 
value  of  slaves,  273 
Maroons,  ambushes,  198,  205 
appearance  of,  181 
brutality  of,  178 
cockpit  country,  172 
Cudjoe,  the  leader,  176, 177,  178 
danger  to  the  community,  197 
defences  against,  172 
difficulties  of  troops  against,  177 
exiled,  214 
fear  of,  175 

firearms  easily  procured,  179 
first  mention,  23 
formidable,  176 
good  marksmen,  179 
impregnable  defiles,  181 
imprisoning  the,  196 
inaccessibility  of  fastnesses,  177 
luck  of,  211 
Malay  blood  in,  176 
old  Maroon  Town,  215 
origin  of  the  term,  170 
peoples  making  up  the  Maroons, 
176 

Quarrell,  Mr,  209 
schooner  Mercury^  210 
Spanish  hunting  dogs,  210 
Spanish  slaves,  171 
terms  with  the,  187, 191,  213 
vanity  of  planters,  171 
Middle  Passage,  baby  that  “took 
sulk,”  120 

difficulties  of  getting  the  cargo, 
102 

horrors  of,  99 

length  of  time  on  coast,  107 


INDEX 


Middle  Passage,  origin  of  term, 
99 

perquisites  of  ship’s  officers, 
126 

sanitary  arrangements,  108 
size  of  ships,  100, 106 
slave  ships,  Gloria^  111 
Leon^  114 

Little  Pearly  116,  117 
RodeuTy  114 
Zongy  109 

slave  ship  wrecked  on  Morant 
Keys,  118 

stowage  of  a slave  ship.  111 
Myrtle  Bank,  comforts,  5 
negro  honesty  at,  298 

Negko,  easy  going  ways,  284 
anecdotes  of  negro  peasant  life, 
322,  323,  324 
hero,  a,  331 
^morals,  311-314 
patois,  292 
prolific,  284 

proud  women  and  children, 
226 

wasteful,  260,  292 
Nugent,  Lady,  Lord  Balcarres,  73 
Creole  language,  73 
deadly  climate,  228,  260 
hard  labour  in  the  mills,  225 
her  servants,  228 
Jamaican  ladies,  72 
morals,  230 

Obeah,  305,  307 

Phillips  of  the  Hannihaly  85 
branding  slaves,  92 
buying  slaves,  87 
child  wives,  87 
life  on  a slave  ship,  94 
Planters  of  1720,  40,  41,  42 


335 

Planters  of  1720,  alliance  with 
slaves,  263 
daughter  of,  45 

Rebellions,  cost  of,  157 
at  Sutton’s,  155 
Great,  157-163 

Seasoning,  150 
Settlers  at  Port  Morant,  37 
Slave  Books,  Worthy  Park  and 
Rose  Hall,  134-146 
Slave  trade  very  genteel,  1,  109 
Slaves,  Creole,  168 
first  savages,  123 
food  shortage,  129 
heavy  penalties  for  trivial 
offences,  216 
irons,  118 

parts  of  the  island  abandoned 
because  of  runaway,  155 
planters  regard  as  property,  241 
punishment,  151,  153 
rebellions,  126,  150,  159 
shackles,  125 

wandering  a danger  to  the 
community,  152 
Soldiers  as  colonists,  34 
Spaniards,  desperate  straits  of,  22 
flight,  20 
losing  game,  20 
relics  of,  27 

Ysassi  last  Governor,  21 
Spanish  towns  very  small,  14 
Spring  Gardens,  238 
Stokes,  Luke,  25 

Tales  of  cruelty,  222,  223 
Treachery  of  the  slavers  at  Calabar, 
103,  104,  105 

Well-meaning  Governor,  323 
Worthy  Park  Returns,  149 


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